Where You Belong
by peacefulsands
Summary: Clay's team of Losers can't hold on to a sniper if their tech's life depended on it, which it often seems to do. Carlos Alvarez can't find a team in which he isn't the outcast. Maybe it's just a matter of finding out where he belongs.
1. Chapter 1

**Title** : Finding Where You Belong

**Author** : peaceful_sands

Written for the Romcomarama challenge

**Film**: Pretty in Pink

**Fandom** : The Losers

**Characters** : Jensen/Cougar (eventual), Pooch, Clay, Roque and various OCs

**Word Count** : a little over 43,000 in total

**Rating** :T (but please note warnings)

**Warnings** : some violence and bullying, threatening behaviors and victimization of individuals for sexual orientation and just because someone was an outsider. . . References to death of a team of soldiers (non-canon characters) – this takes place before the story starts.

**Author's Note**: The story started with the premise from 'Pretty in Pink' of someone from one social group liking a person from another social group and there being 'issues' in dealing with that dynamic and the fact that not everyone truly fits in the group in which they find themselves.

**Disclaimer**: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Author's Thanks** : I have a special group of friends who have all helped tremendously with making sure that I tackle as many of my own writing fails as possible – typos, consistency, American v Brit language, continuity. Without them this story would not be what it is today – that said, errors are all mine. Thank you to all of them for their help, their support and guidance.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

Clay walked into the kitchen of the house he currently had his team housed in. Pooch was sat at the table, poking around the inside of . . . Clay wasn't sure what it was but it looked filthy and like it belonged outside in the garage and not on the kitchen table. He cleared his throat and Pooch looked up. He glared and Pooch ignored him, turning his attention back to his task. Clay sighed as if it was just what he'd expected to happen, then asked "Where's Jensen and Roque?"

Pooch shrugged then added, "PT . . . again!"

"What did Jensen do this time?" Clay asked wearily as he opened a cupboard searching for a clean cup to pour himself some coffee.

"When Roque got to post for his medical, the new doc was expecting a woman . . ."

Clay leant forward letting his head bang against the cupboard as he let out a strangled half laugh. "There are times I wish that kid would learn, but fuck if I know what to do to get the lessons to stick," he groaned.

"Apparently he was bored . . . I'm just waiting to see what other shit hits the fan before I relax."

Clay grunted in acknowledgement of that fact, sipping at his coffee. He looked up as the doorbell rang and moved to answer it. Standing on the doorstep was a delivery guy with a huge bunch of red roses. Clay stopped and stared at him. "Er . . . I'm looking for . . . Wilamena Rock?" the guy said.

"Wrong address," Clay answered blandly. "No one by that name lives here." He stepped back already closing the door, when the guy asked if he had any idea where she did live.

"No idea," Clay shrugged. "Can't help, sorry, bye." He shut the door firmly, not waiting for the guy to actually leave. Walking back into the kitchen, he said, "Death wish . . . Suicidal . . . No sense of reality . . . How the hell did he get through all the training and get dumped on my doorstep?"

"What's Jensen done now?"

"Ordered a very, very large bunch of red roses for Wilamena Rock apparently," Clay sighed leaning back against the kitchen counter. "Thank fuck they tried to deliver them while Roque and Jensen were out! That kid has a death wish, he really does. There isn't a single grain of common sense in his head, not one! Not even a very lonely one!"

Pooch laughed. "Any news on a new guy yet?"

Clay sighed and shook his head, "Apparently there's no one suitable available. In the meantime, we'll either manage without or have a loan sniper. Like a fuckin' lending library! They'll have 'em stamped with return dates and everything the way they're going. With fines for returning them late or damaged!"

Pooch agreed, before turning back to the oily insides of whatever it was he had on the table that Clay still hadn't managed to identify. "Make sure that's gone before anyone starts thinking about food," Clay grumbled, heading out of the kitchen.

* * *

><p>Jensen staggered dramatically in through the door, with gasps and groans that drew everyone's attention. His big shit-eating grin was still firmly plastered on his face, despite the red flush of over exertion to his cheeks, the definite panting for breath and the sweat that had soaked through his clothes completely. Once he'd got everyone's attention, he gave a bow and then said, "Ladies and Gentlemen! I give you . . . Wilamena Rock!"<p>

Roque followed him in through the door, a look of clear disgust on his face just before he clipped Jensen round the back of the head. "You've been warned, Jensen!"

"Here she comes," Jensen panted semi-tunefully, "Walking down the street, She gets the funniest looks from everyone she meets. Hey hey it's Wilamena! People say she –" He was cut short when Roque got right up close in his personal space and growled. "Woah! And I'll leave it there, I think folks . . . I'm going for a shower, after that little work out."

He was just heading out of the kitchen, when he turned at the last minute and ostensibly addressed Pooch and Clay when he said, "I'd be careful . . . P.M.S.!" He nodded sagely before retreating to the sound of Roque growling his name again.

Clay looked at his irritated XO, "So I see another extended P.T. session really did the trick this time!"

Roque grunted, "He should be on fuckin' latrine duty for the whole fuckin' Army! Little Asshole! Do we really have to keep him? Can't I kill him? Friendly fire?"

"No," Clay answered calmly. "What did you do to provoke this latest bout of inappropriate conduct? Do I need to fill out another shitload of forms about his insubordination?"

"What's the point? Little shit just hacks in and changes them all anyway!"

"He doesn't actually or at least if he has, he didn't get rid of them all or make them less outrageous last time I looked," Clay sounded slightly bemused by the admission as if he'd have believed the same. "And back to my question, what did you do to provoke the backlash – this is more than just boredom. . ."

Roque shrugged, accompanying it with a somewhat guilty sounding "Nothing." Clay frowned and Pooch snorted in disbelief.

Clay turned to Pooch and raised his eyebrows, knowing that Pooch would spill the beans. "The nothing involved Roque, gun oil, blood, engine oil and Jensen's new t-shirt – I think you probably get the picture." Pooch grinned at both men.

"Soldier's got no right to wear a fucking candy pink t-shirt!" Roque grunted defensively. "Thought it was a rag . . ."

Clay sighed, shook his head and turned to leave the room. "If he's strained a muscle again, you are going to pay!" He warned as he left the room.

* * *

><p>It was later in the day when Clay climbed back into his car, not so fresh from his latest 'briefing' with the Brass at post. He ran a hand wearily through his hair, thinking how somewhere along the line someone had missed the meaning of the word 'brief'. He wouldn't have minded so much if half the information they had given him would have been of any use to the actual mission. Two weeks before they shipped out on this one, more than enough time for Jensen to come up with something that would actually be useful, or at least so he hoped.<p>

He drove off post and joined the slow-moving traffic, trying not to give any thought to what havoc Roque and Jensen would have wrought while he'd been gone. He looked forward to a day when they weren't trying to rile one another up. Mind you, Jensen wouldn't be too bad for the next couple of weeks as he submerged himself into finding all the information he could for their upcoming mission. That would occupy most of Jensen's time, all Clay needed to do now was find something to keep Roque busy and away from goading the tech.

Maybe he could enlist his help in the attempts to track down a replacement sniper. Since Hanniger had left the team, they hadn't been able to find a permanent replacement. Hanniger had at least stuck around a while, but like so many operatives he hadn't really fit into the team in the way he or they needed. He'd not been able to stand Jensen, couldn't see beyond the loud mouth and bright obnoxious t-shirts to the intelligence underneath. He'd wound the tech up and not in a good way. It hadn't been funny to watch, not like watching Jensen and Roque play out their little arguments.

Clay could trust Roque; he hadn't been able to trust Hanniger in the same way. He wasn't afraid for Jensen, was probably more concerned for Hanniger in truth because Jensen had a long reach. Jensen wasn't going to succumb to the physical assault that was Hanniger's most frequent route. Jensen would give as good as he got on that front when he was pushed, but it cost too much in hassle and replaced furniture or medical center trips to allow it to continue and then there was the mop up afterwards of Jensen's technological retribution.

Turning up for a medical to find you'd been listed as a woman was nothing to the retribution Jensen had taken on Hanniger. There'd been the diversion of paychecks into charitable organizations, the siphoning off of bank accounts toward disaster relief, the sudden apparent demotion, the calls to jury duty repeatedly and in different states, states that Hanniger had never even set foot in. If they had downtime, it was pretty much guaranteed that Hanniger would get a summons somewhere that he would then have to go through all the rigmarole to try and prove that he didn't have to actually serve.

Hanniger hadn't gotten along with Roque either, constantly butting heads with the XO as if trying to take his place. His experience might have been only slightly less than Roque's, but Clay wouldn't have promoted him even if Roque had been the one to leave. Hanniger was a good enough sniper, not the best Clay had ever met, but he was a fuckin' useless team member. Too self-interested for their line of work.

So Hanniger was gone and now they had no sniper and they needed one; they really needed a permanent one.

* * *

><p>With Jensen focused on the forthcoming mission and Roque helping with the attempts to locate a suitable replacement sniper, things were in fact quieter. Roque and Jensen still snarked at each other, but the two of them were grinning and enjoying themselves, there was no untoward heat or weight behind their words. This Clay could live with.<p>

* * *

><p>McDonald was short and stocky, a loud mouth. Not your typical sniper was Clay's first impression as the guy seemed to be a bundle of pent-up energy. Still he was the best available and at first glance he seemed to be a fit for the team.<p>

McDonald spent the last few days before they shipped out, getting to know the team, laughing and joking with Roque and Pooch and teasing Jensen mercilessly. It didn't seem like a problem. Clay wondered if maybe this time he'd found the one to complete the team.

* * *

><p>Time soon proved Clay wrong on that score. Initially it seemed that the mission was running pretty well, no serious problems to delay them in their objectives. Jensen and Roque were both on site; Jensen stripping data from computers while Roque covered his back. McDonald was hidden on the roof of a nearby construction site to provide retreating cover fire if it were needed. It should have been fine . . .<p>

Roque was able to take down the first guy who happened to wander aimlessly into the room where Jensen was hacking the system; managing to knife him before he could make a sound to alert anyone else to what was happening. It moved the timeline up, Jensen trying to work quicker to get as much information as possible before Roque pulled the plug and insisted on them leaving.

After an actual guard found them, Roque decided enough was enough and they were leaving, before the pile of bodies in the corner grew any larger. The two of them were making their way out of the building when they were challenged by security. They managed to maneuver their positions so that they were within sight of McDonald's position. It should have been fine; it should have been straightforward. . .

The two of them were at gunpoint.

Clay and Pooch listened over the comms to Jensen's attempts to distract and talk down the guards, dissuade them from shooting. They waited, breath held anticipating the first gunshot, for McDonald to take the shots that would give their team-mates the time to get out.

When it came, it was accompanied by exactly what they didn't want to hear – the sound of one of their own men hurt. There was a sudden grunt of shock, followed by the sound of a body hitting the ground, further gunshots and Roque shouting for Jensen. It only took moments and then there was silence.

It didn't last long before the silence was broken by Roque. Over the comms, they could hear him ranting at Jensen to help him, not to just give up and lie there. They could hear him struggling to lift Jensen when there was a sudden groan of pain and clear signs of Jensen waking to everyone's relief. Clay was out and running to help already and Pooch was moving the van closer. No one asked what McDonald was doing, assuming he'd be either keeping up the cover in case of further security intervention or packing up his gear and heading for the rendezvous depending on how far Roque had managed to move Jensen.

Pooch was surprised when, rather than head for the rendezvous point, McDonald had actually joined him in the van with the comment "Saw you move, figured this was easier than heading to another point to pick me up!" There was a certain anxious tone to his words that Pooch couldn't explain but he wasn't worried, if the guy was in the van, it meant they could get Jensen to help quicker and that could only be a good thing.

"Did you see what happened?" Pooch asked, worried that although he could hear that Clay was now with Roque and the two of them were supporting Jensen out, no one had indicated what kind of injury Jensen was suffering from.

"Jensen was in the way. Asshole kept moving, I couldn't get a clear shot quick enough," was the bizarre answer.

Pooch turned his attention back to the sight of Clay, Roque and Jensen as they rounded the corner in front of him, wondering what exactly had happened, because while they all knew how much energy Jensen generally buzzed with, their tech wasn't stupid, he knew when to keep still, how to keep still when someone was going to be trying to shoot past him.

Clay pulled open the rear door and McDonald stepped forward to help pull Jensen inside. Clay was shocked to see him there, "You? How'd you get down so fast?" Pooch looked back over his shoulder suddenly struck by the fact that McDonald hadn't even been out of breath when he arrived at the van. The guy i_should_/i have just run down about twelve floors of the construction site opposite the compound that Jensen and Roque had been in, he certainly hadn't rappelled down because he wasn't wearing his gear. Whichever he'd done, he should at least have been breathing heavily.

"What the fuck did you do?" Roque suddenly snarled, now his arms were empty of Jensen's weight. He turned as if to lunge for McDonald, only for Jensen to cough, gasping for breath and groaning. McDonald was forgotten about as Roque and Clay both turned their attention to trying to assess and stabilize Jensen's condition as Pooch floored the pedal and sped away towards safety.

* * *

><p>McDonald hadn't lasted beyond the return to post. Jensen had been deposited in the medical center and while they worked on him, Roque had taken matters into his own hands before there was time for an official inquiry. McDonald had needed his own hospital visit before Roque had finished.<p>

* * *

><p>When they finally picked apart the truth of the events, McDonald didn't fare well, but it wasn't quite as bad as Roque had first assumed . . . Not that he had any intention of apologizing for the retribution that he'd already exacted. McDonald hadn't bothered to climb as high in the construction site as he'd been supposed to, saying that the likelihood of them really needing back-up was minimal. Not having achieved the height, he then didn't have such a good view of where Jensen and Roque were and hadn't been able to see past them to the guards they'd lured round hoping he had them covered.<p>

He hadn't, as Roque had supposed, actually shot Jensen, although he had been responsible for the first shot that had caused Jensen to go down. It turned out his shot had hit the gravel in the parking lot which had then ricocheted up and hit Jensen, causing him to stumble forward with several pieces of gravel embedded in his ass! The resulting furor had been that the guards threatening Jensen and Roque had reacted to the sound of gunfire and Jensen's forward movement by shooting Jensen. They'd been bad at their jobs fortunately and most of the bullets had missed with just a couple hitting him as through and throughs in his arm and leg and in the end not too serious, but at the time, it had floored the tech and had caused them all more than a little anxiety.

Clay had not been happy about the unnecessary damage to the tech, who hadn't been at fault for once, nor for the resulting pile of paperwork that followed it. A further annoyance on the top of that was the fact that they were sniper-less . . . again.

* * *

><p>Carlos Alvarez stared blankly at the wall opposite his bed. The room was peaceful for the moment, no nurses fussing round, no brass trying to accuse him of being at fault for his injuries and even better none of his 'team'.<p>

This wasn't what he'd imagined life in the Army would be like. Not the getting injured part, he'd known that would always be a risk, but he'd imagined a team, people working together for the greater good. Not some mad battle to trample one another to the top of the heap. He didn't expect anyone to pull his weight for him. He knew his strengths. Seriously all through basic training, he'd managed some of the highest acclamations for his skills. He'd been handpicked for special forces training.

But it had been a long time since he'd been accepted, been part of one of the teams he'd worked with. He'd done everything they'd asked of him and more and been met with disinterest at best and hostility even more often. High school had been easier than this. He knew his faults, he was quiet, didn't find it easy to put himself out there and be noticed, but the few times he'd tried had only made matters worse.

There were times he wished he'd never signed up to serve, never listened to the recruitment officers who'd visited school. He didn't belong here anymore than he'd belonged when he'd been in school. He was a loner, but not by choice. He'd had his one chance at being part of a team and that had been taken away from him in the worst possible way. He'd begun to believe he'd never have another chance.

He heard a noise in the corridor outside the two bed room in which he was lying. It sounded like they would be bringing someone new into fill the other bed. He wondered for an instant who it would be, where they'd been when they got injured or whether it was something else entirely.

The staff wheeled in a gurney, Carlos watched as they worked together to shift the sleeping figure over to the bed alongside his. Two nurses drew the curtain round the bed as they settled the man in, while the other two rolled away the gurney. It didn't take long for the nurses to open the curtain again, smiling warmly at Carlos in greeting as he watched them.

"He'll be out of it for a while, but you'll have someone to keep you company for the next few days at least once he's awake. Apparently," she stepped closer as if about to confide something. "Apparently we should appreciate the time he's asleep because he doesn't shut up when he's awake or so his team said. I guess they'll be by later to check on him." She frowned, "You've not had any visitors yet today?"

Carlos looked away as he shrugged. "I'm between teams," he said quietly.

The nurse sighed, moving to pull a chair closer and sit down for a chat, much to his chagrin. "Carlos . . . Did you file a complaint?"

"No." He wished he hadn't been here so often, wished that he'd been able to hide more of the injuries that he'd got while not on missions with this last team.

She reached for the hand that lay on the cover nearer her. "Carlos, we'll back you up. We've got your records."

"I'm fine. I don't need to file anything." He pulled his hand away from her grasp. "I'm not with that team so . . . leave it . . ." His voice dropped even quieter as he added, "Please."

She sighed again, Carlos knew she was weary with this old argument, hoping that this time he'd be transferred to a better team, before she saw him back in her care with the results of an organized Code Red as opposed to the persistent minor injuries that resulted from the hassling abuse he'd been receiving ever since his time with Major McKee and his team. They both knew that even though Carlos had moved teams again, he wasn't really any better off. She pushed herself back up and said, "I'll come by later and check on you. If you need anything, just call." She picked up his chart on the pretense of noting down information but he watched as she spent longer just looking to see what information there was as to who he'd been working with last. He didn't suppose that it would be any surprise to find it was a Major who had a similar track record for ill-disciplined behavior from his team as McKee.

Carlos let himself relax a little as she left the room, turning to look again at his sleeping companion. The man looked young in his sleep, blonde hair mussed by the movement from gurney to bed. He was propped on his side, face towards Carlos, pillows behind him to keep him in place and another under the arm that was bandaged and positioned carefully in front of him. There was no sign of the pain of his injuries as he slept.

He was an attractive man. Carlos wondered if his personality would match that of most other attractive men that he'd met. Not that it would matter, he was a soldier, not the kind of person that Carlos would let his thoughts consider. If he was lucky, the man in the bed alongside would be a distraction from the boredom of his confinement while he waited for his injuries to heal, amiable enough that they could get along. There would be nothing more, Carlos knew not to expect friendship at this point in his career.

* * *

><p>Jensen came round slowly, consciousness slowly re-asserting itself, the smells and sounds of a medical facility . . . disinfectant, rolling gurneys, the curt clip of nursing staff shoes, the awkwardness of his position . . . not how he usually slept . . . and voices . . . unfamiliar ones, but quiet, not threatening.<p>

"I've nearly done for today, Carlos. This is healing well. It won't be long and you'll have both arms back in action."

"And the leg?"

"Be patient. It's going to be fine, but it's going to take a while."

Jensen's eyes finally opened, his usual curiosity overcoming the urge to let sleep reclaim him. When his vision cleared, he was disappointed to find not a view of his surroundings, but a view of a typical hospital curtain around the bed beside his and the voices quiet from behind that closed curtain.

He shifted, thinking to relieve the discomfort of the position he was in, only to suddenly gasp as he was reminded of exactly why he was in the medical center in the first place. The sudden intake of air caught him by surprise and he began to cough as well.

He couldn't help but be grateful when the curtain alongside suddenly moved and a nurse was at his side, gently rubbing his back to calm his coughing before reaching for a jug of water and pouring a little into a cup and slipping a straw into it then holding it where he could sip and ease the last of the remaining tickle in his throat.

"Take it easy there, soldier," she smiled. He gave a slight grin as his breathing calmed and he felt himself ease back down onto the bed, grateful as she helped him get comfortable.

"Hey," he said hoarsely.

She smiled gently, "Hey there, you. Good to see you awake, Corporal. So coughing and choking aside, shall we run through why you're here and what the situation is?"

"Sounds . . . riveting? Is it good?"

"The best. Let's start simple. . . gunshot hit you in the arm. You fell and apparently put your hand out to stop the fall, so we've strapped up your wrist. It's not broken but it did swell impressively for a while. We iced it and all the usual. Now we've got you propped up on your side because the doctors had to do . . . umm . . . a little digging . . ." Jensen's eyebrows shot up in alarm before registering the nurse's smile. "Apparently, you had gravel in the back of your leg and your . . . "

Jensen was mortified as he realized where else he'd had gravel. "H- how . . .? Fuck! No, don't . . . just never mention it again, ever! You hear me! Fuck!" He tried to bury his burning face in the pillow below his head.

"Aw, Corporal . . ." she smirked. "don't be like that. Apparently, gunshot hit the gravel, shattering it into smaller pieces which then hit you."

"Tell me no one else knows this? Please?" Jensen pleaded quietly.

"Sorry, I can't do that. You've been out a while and there were certain actions that had to be taken. Your commanding officer had to know because there were imminent charges of insubordination pending and he wanted to start the ball rolling."

"I didn't do anything, I swear! Fuck! I swear I did exactly what we agreed. It wasn't my fault." Jensen seemed genuinely horrified at the prospect and at the first sign of his growing agitation, the nurse sat down on the edge of the bed with him and tried to calm him.

"Hey, sssh! Don't get so worked up, everything's fine and it – it wasn't you. He wasn't filing them against you. Sssh, Jake, sssh." She made a mental note to add his extreme reaction to his chart.

Jensen eased back, bringing his good hand up to scrub against his face, "Fuck! It's all screwed up, isn't it? What the hell happened?" He seemed to have realized that his reaction was over the top and tried to laugh it off, "Hell, wouldn't be the first time I had charges of insubordination. I just like to know what I've done first."

"Apparently, it was a team-mate who hadn't followed orders, put you and your XO at risk? Of course, that's just what I've heard on the grapevine, nothing official yet."

"That only leaves Pooch and McDonald . . . Pooch was with Clay last I heard so . . ." Jensen let his voice trail off before resuming, "So how long am I going to be in here?"

"Few days and you'll be fine. Good as new. Well almost! You did get hit by the enemy in the lower leg. It'll heal with a little time and some rehab, but you'll need to be on crutches for a while and you won't be going out on any missions until you get the all clear."

"Swell," he replied with just a hint of sarcasm.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

The room was silent, Jensen dozing in fits and starts and Carlos sitting contemplating the future. Depending on the outcome of the latest fiasco, he could be sent back to the team, although he hoped not. It was more likely he would go back into circulation, an on-loan sniper, no team, expendable. He wondered whether he would bother to re-up when his time came. He'd been here long enough to know things weren't working well and he was running out of hope that they would get any better.

Carlos heard a groan from the bed alongside, saw his companion attempt to shift and find a more comfortable position in his sleep. He failed and let out another groan as he jostled his own injuries. Carlos was still watching, wondering whether he should call a nurse or whether the man was going to be okay. The nurses were busy, he didn't like to bother them unnecessarily, but he also didn't like to see someone in pain when there was an alternative.

The man's eyes fluttered open and he groaned again. "Fuuuuuck!" He blinked a few times, then his gaze seemed to settle on Carlos, "Hey, ummm, hi! This sucks . . . this totally sucks . . . you ever been shot in the ass, man? Let me tell you . . . don't do it . . . totally can't think of any situation that would make it a good thing. I mean I've thought about it . . . well not exactly . . . more sort of thought about where I wouldn't want to be shot . . . obviously top of the list was my dick – I mean you get that, right?"

"Your dick? Not your head?" Carlos found himself captivated by the ramble and simultaneously bemused by its randomness.

"My head – huh . . . yeah, guess that should have been pretty high on the list as well. So . . . um . . . I should probably tell you at this point, that . . . um . . . if I kinda pass you in the street or whatever later, like don't take offence or anything. I mean it's not you, man, it's me . . . kind of. Well like, I don't have my glasses and right now, you're just a blob, sort of man shaped blob with blurry edges and dark at the top, going lighter lower down, but then I guess maybe that's like the sheets or something, probably . . . maybe?" He bit his lip for a moment, then added, "You're kinda quiet there . . . you want me to shut up? Oh shit, you haven't got like a head injury or anything, have you? Do you need peace and quiet?"

"No – no head injury."

"Shit, well I guess that's good, huh? It is, right? You haven't got something awful and I'm like really putting my foot in it here. I'm a dumbass, I should just shut up now, shouldn't I?"

Carlos couldn't help smiling. "Nothing 'awful', busted arm and leg but they're going to heal."

"Phew! That's pretty much a relief – I'd kinda dug myself a hole there or at least I thought I had. So I guess I should introduce myself. I'm Jensen, Jake Jensen . . . Corporal you know if that's important to you. I'm with The Losers, you've probably heard of them - most people have around here." Carlos saw him shrug off-handedly and wondered why 'most people' had heard of them. He hadn't but that didn't necessarily mean anything; after all it wasn't like he was one for engaging in gossip. Jensen was still chatting away and Carlos turned his attention back to what he was saying. "Hopefully they'll be by later and bring some candy. I like candy but I don't mind sharing – I guess that's if they leave any for us. Yeah, Roque . . . hmmm . . . if he's already started on the candy stash . . . doesn't bear thinking about and I'm not going up against him to fight for the candy or at least not until I'm out of here anyway otherwise I might end up staying longer after he's finished getting his own back. He's a mean fucker."

Carlos's hackles rose, taking in the way in which Jensen's affectionate grin belied his words about Roque, nothing screamed about the abuse he could be suffering, then again Carlos didn't think he came across as a victim, but one could never be sure.

Jensen was still talking, almost without pausing for breath, "Mind you, I probably shouldn't want them to come visit, should I? They're only going to get all the details of my injury and then there won't be any let up in the teasing. Now we'll be in the front line of fighting off some megalomaniacal dwarf with a long range missile and one of them will turn round and say, 'D'you remember when you got hit in the ass, Jensen?' or maybe, 'Watch your ass, Jensen, we'd hate to have to carry you out of here again!' My life will be filled with endless torment," he finished with a groan.

Moments later and it seemed Jensen had reflected on his woes for long enough as he began to tell Carlos about his team. There was clear pride and affection in his voice that stirred a little surge of jealousy in Carlos as he recognized what he'd been searching for.

It was a surprise to find himself still so capable of feeling; Carlos had spent so long trying to distance himself from everything and everyone, trying to cut himself off from the disappointment and loneliness and make life feel manageable. He thought he'd given up on it all but something about Jake Jensen broke down those defenses and made him want it again. Jensen's innocent rambling reminded him what he'd been seeking when he'd signed up : what he'd failed to find but in memories of good friends dead, a team sent into a battle undermanned, under informed, a sacrifice to the cause. Time passed and Carlos never missed them less, just concealed it below layers and layers of self-preservation. That team had been friends; friends who had accepted him for who he was and they'd known the truth, something he hid now from everyone and refused to accept even in private.

He sighed softly, surprised when Jensen stopped his chatter and apologized again. He looked across wondering what the apologies were for, saw the shame on the other man's face and wondered what it was he had said and done now. "Why are you sorry?" he asked, wondering for an instant if his own train of thought had taken him so far from the conversation that he had missed something key.

"I'm rambling and you – you want me to shut up. You should just say, man. I won't take offense – kind of used to it to be honest, my team do it all the time. They say I'd drive anyone insane. I can shut up, guess I just need reminding. Sorry."

"There is no need to apologize." Looking up, he knew Jensen needed more than that and wondered what to say. "I . . . It is interesting to listen to someone – you – talk. There has not been much distraction here."

"You should be careful saying things like that. Pooch always reckons I'm just waiting for an opportunity to talk someone's ear off to see if it's actually possible. Roque says it's more likely that someone would pull their own ears off so they didn't need to listen anymore though. You should stop me before it gets to that stage. You probably need your ears later, you know to hear orders or . . . huh, yeah, sorry."

Carlos smiled, feeling his mood lift with the bizarre chatter. "So what's your name? I mean I could just keep calling you man, dude or Oi you! But that gets embarrassing when I have to introduce you to someone else."

"Alvarez."

"Okay, _Alvarez_, I'm going to take that as a last name, but hey feel free to share more whenever the mood takes you. I tend to overshare, but I _can _listen. I do know how. I just tend to fill the gaps in conversation."

There was a noise out in the corridor and Carlos saw as Jensen's smile grew brighter. "Visitors!"

Carlos waited quietly, listening to the commotion out in the corridor. "We haven't got long and I'm his XO so we need to see him. You can waive your rules for someone of my rank."

"No _Captain_, I'm afraid we can't. The rule is only one visitor at a time at this point. Later on when the patient is further along with his recovery, but he had surgery earlier today, we don't allow more than one visitor at a time. Now if one of you would like to stay here and wait while the other -"

Another voice broke in, calmer and more friendly, "Ma'am, please. Seriously, the clean-up will be easier if you let me keep guard. Captain Roque here needs a keeper when it comes to Corporal Jensen – for all concerned it would be better if you let me go –"

"If Captain Roque doesn't stop growling at me and trying to intimidate me, he won't be going in ever!"

Carlos watched as Jensen snickered lightly before turning and saying, "That's Pooch and Roque. You'll like Pooch; everybody likes Pooch. Roque has to . . ." He appeared to be thinking of a suitable end to the sentence before coming up with, "grow on you!"

The room fell silent as they listened to the continued altercation outside before Jensen suddenly turned and added, "Kind of like fungus."

Another minute or two of continued arguing outside and Jensen said, "Watch this." He reached for the call button. Within moments another nurse appeared, the commotion outside still proceeding apace. Carlos was half convinced that he'd heard Captain Roque actually snarling even at this distance and couldn't believe that Jensen was grinning about the prospect of seeing the man.

"Nurse, there's a lot of noise outside . . ." Jensen said weakly, all traces of his previous joviality gone and replaced with a whole 'newly awoken patient' persona.

The nurse adjusted Jensen's pillows and tried to help him settle more comfortably, while reassuring him that it was nothing to worry about, just some visitors, but if he was still too tired they would be sent away. "My team?" Jensen's voice quavered. "My team is here? They're okay? How hurt were they? C-can I see them? Please."

"We're just trying to arrange for one of them to come visit with you. If you lie down and take it easy –"

She was cut short by Jensen struggling to sit up and the need to force him back down. "Lie still, Jake before you re-open your wounds!" she said sharply.

He lay still and gave her a sorrow-filled look adding, "I'm so worried, how badly were they hurt?"

Carlos was surprised, the young man hadn't seemed so worried when he pressed the call button but now it seemed he was verging on panic and genuine distress. The nurse clearly saw the same, so insisting that if Jensen lay still, she'd get his team but that they could only stay for a minute or two because it was against protocol for post-surgery patients, she promptly turned and headed for the door.

Jensen didn't move as she hurried away, but as the door closed behind her, he looked across to the other bed and gave the cheekiest grin that Carlos had ever seen. "I think it worked," he chuckled.

Moments later, she re-entered the room re-iterating to the two men following her that they could only stay a few minutes because Jensen was fragile after his surgery. Carlos didn't comment on the suspicious look on both men's faces or on Roque's "I thought you all said he was going to be fine – that there were no complications."

"Some people are left a little more emotionally fragile after anesthetic. Corporal Jensen was very concerned about you all," she said intently. Carlos saw the smaller of the two men turn away covering his mouth as if hiding emotion or maybe it was laughter.

"Corporal Jensen," she said softly. "Some of your team mates are here to see you now. They can't stay long though, you need your rest."

"Thank you so much, you're so nice," he responded weakly. She made her way out of the room and Jensen beamed brightly at the two newcomers. "Growling, Roque? You've got no manners. Pooch clearly can't take you anywhere!"

"Emotionally fragile . . . you? Manipulative little fucker seems more like an accurate description to me!"

Jensen just grinned in reply.

"Winding the nurses round your devious little finger. You are not to be trusted and I've a good mind to tell them that!" Roque continued.

"I don't think they'll believe you, oh nasty, growling Wilamena!"

"Stop it! Before the two of you get us thrown out of here! Jensen, Roque brought you a present. I brought candy but I'm not sure you deserve it!"

"Aw, Pooch, please. I've been good and there's no way you two would have got in here if it weren't for me now, is there? I told Alvarez over there, I'd share with him."

Pooch turned to the other bed, giving a wave to the man there. "Hey, I'm Pooch, he's Roque and we're both sorry about Jay. He's a regular pain in the ass and if you find yourself in need of ear-plugs, we have plenty."

Carlos gave a smile of acknowledgement. Pooch threw one package on to the bed, "That's from Roque," before fishing in his bag again and pulling out some candy which he proceeded to open and offer first to Alvarez and then to Roque before tucking in himself, completely ignoring Jensen's pitiful looks. "Open that and you won't want candy!" he added cryptically.

Awkwardly with just the one hand, Jensen managed to get the package open and see as something pink fell out on to the bed. With a little further struggle, he managed to shake open a pink t-shirt with a slogan on the front, "My other t-shirt is socially acceptable" it read across the front. He laughed and held it up to show his room-mate, "Look at this, Alvarez. It's awesome!"

Carlos couldn't help but be surprised by both the color and the slogan, but none of the team seemed to think there was anything out of the ordinary with the t-shirt. He couldn't imagine his recent teams reacting like that. "It's . . . ummm . . ." He wasn't really sure what to say.

"Totally!" Roque agreed. "You see, Jensen. I've been telling you for months now; a real soldier does not wear pink t-shirts! Do you listen? No, you don't. You just continue to wear the atrocities!"

"You're the one who doesn't listen. I've told you before, before World War II men wore pink without a problem. It used to be thought of as a sign of virility – can't get much more manly than that! The Virgin Mary was the one in blue . . ."

"You talk crap –"

"Not all the time . . . you just don't listen at the right time to catch the good stuff," Jensen grinned and Roque shook his head, before looking at Carlos and shrugging. "What's a normal man to do with him? Listen bro, if he's annoying you or more annoying than usual or whatever, just get the nurse to give him a shot to make him sleep. I'm seriously considering getting my own supply because he is such a pain in the ass."

It was Pooch whose face turned serious as he sat down alongside Jensen, "So Jay, are you gonna tell us what happened?"

Jensen's face dropped, all humor gone as he refused to make eye contact with anyone in the room. Pooch patted his arm fondly. "Jay. We know it wasn't your fault, okay? We've got your back. You're one of us, don't forget it?"

"No jumped up idle fucker gets away with shooting _my_ tech in the ass. I, however, will do it as and when I see fit," Roque growled, glaring menacingly at Jensen. He stepped closer and as he spoke again, there was no growl in his voice, only concern. "There's gonna be a court martial. Little fucker will be lucky to get away with a dishonorable discharge if you ask me. Nobody risks my life like that!"

Jensen looked up in surprise, "Your life? What do you mean _your life? _I was the one who got shot!"

Roque grinned maliciously, "Yeah, but I was standing right next to ya. Would've been me next."

Jensen gave a half snort of laughter, "And here I was thinking you actually cared. Glad we put that misconception to rest."

Roque turned serious again, "Nobody gets my team shot. Nobody, you hear me. If anyone is gonna shoot my team, it goes by me first. You did the right thing; we've got your back. So when it gets to the court martial, you stand up there and you remember _we_ have got your back and we're going to say that in front of everyone."

Carlos watched as Jensen nodded and seemed to accept the reassurance. He looked away before anyone noticed him or the envy that he was sure would be clear in his own eyes.

The two men stayed a while longer after they'd briefly explained the absence of their CO who was apparently with the brass going through the details of the mission, delivering the objective which Roque and Jensen had succeeded in retrieving and discussing what would happen in terms of the court martial. They sat chatting about random things, inviting Carlos to be part of the conversation and sharing the candy they'd brought for Jensen freely, managing to regularly miss giving any to their own team-mate.

* * *

><p>As it happened over the next few days, Jensen and Carlos relaxed into each other's company. Carlos wasn't exactly chatty, but he found himself listening contentedly to Jensen's constant stream of thought ramble. It was fascinating, even when he couldn't follow how Jensen jumped from one thing to another. The team had brought in Jensen's spare glasses and Carlos noticed how his face only seemed to become more animated now he could see the world around him clearly.<p>

Carlos had his first encounter with Jensen's CO on the second day. He was quieter than his team, concerned for Jensen's well-being but also very firm with the tech about behaving and not driving everyone up the wall. Jensen seemed to be relaxed in his presence, relieved that the man was showing the concern and was behind him one hundred percent.

Carlos caught Clay looking at him once or twice, almost appraisingly and wondered what was going through the man's mind, before deciding that he was probably better off not knowing. He had enough trouble on his plate.

It was their last day together, both of them finally having the all-clear for release, when Jensen finally asked the question Carlos had been dreading. "Is your team still serving away?"

"No," Carlos answered, hoping Jensen would drop the conversation, even if it was with the wrong assumption.

"They haven't visited you though," Jensen pressed.

"No."

Jensen swung his legs cautiously off the bed, reaching for the crutches alongside so that he could make his way across the room to sit on the end of Carlos' bed. "You're trying to avoid telling me something and I don't get it. I thought we were friends now."

Carlos looked away. He really didn't want to deal with this, but he did want to hold on to this tentative friendship for every last minute that he could. Jensen tapped his arm gently and he looked back, taking in yet another pink t-shirt, this one emblazoned with the words, "I'd agree with you, but then we'd both be wrong". "Friends," Jensen said again.

"No team," he said softly. "I'm between teams."

Jensen smiled, too wide, Carlos thought, for the confession he'd just heard. "That's okay, then. So when my team picks me up, we know you need a lift to wherever you live when we go. See it's not so hard – not now that we're friends."

Jensen chattered away until Pooch appeared ready to take him away. Jensen promptly told him how they were going to give Carlos a lift to his barracks, a fact that didn't seem to bother Pooch at all, for which Carlos was very grateful. Pooch made a few jokes about the two of them maneuvering down the corridor on their crutches, but he kept pace easily, telling Jensen all about someone called Jolene and how wonderful she was. Jensen seemed to approve of all that he was hearing and Carlos wondered what it would be like to find a team like this again.

He was so lost in thought that he almost missed Pooch calling his name and looking at him expectantly as if waiting for an answer. He looked down at his feet, before murmuring an apology. Pooch just smiled and made the excuse for him that he was concentrating on the crutches; not like Jensen who had spent some time not all that long ago on crutches after a run-in with Roque and a stint of extra P.T. The grin on both men's faces told Carlos that it had been Jake up to no good. He'd learned over the last few days that some of Jensen's most outlandish tales of pranks he'd pulled on Roque were in fact true.

Carlos looked at Pooch as he asked whether Carlos had rehabilitation at the same time as Jensen over the next few days. When Carlos nodded, Pooch said, "That's great, bro. I'll pick you up on our way in. Save you having to find another way to get here. Jay said you're between teams so it makes sense for us to look out for you, since we're coming this way anyway."

"You don't have to do that," Carlos said, amazed that they would even offer. Pooch just laughed and told him to be ready at 0830 the following morning.

* * *

><p>They'd dropped Carlos off at the barracks and were pulling away from the curb when Pooch said, "Seems like a nice enough guy. Kind of quiet though. I bet he's glad to get some rest from your chatter." He grinned softening the words. "Now Clay says we're to keep an eye on your meds this time – no letting you have them and forgetting to take them or worse–"<p>

"It was only the once!" Jensen moaned.

Pooch frowned and rolled his eyes, "Seriously, one slight overdose of painkillers that make you go loopy is more than enough, believe me. Clay also said Roque is limiting laptop time. You need your rest and so no gaming or hacking into the early hours of the morning."

"Aw, you guys are no fun. I've been without my little girl for days now. I've missed her."

"And that's not frightening at all. Jensen, get a life!"

The conversation turned to MacDonald's impending court-martial and Pooch reassured him that he'd only have to make a brief appearance to give his side of events and the rest would be dealt with by those in the know.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Carlos balanced easily on his crutches as he waited on the curb at 0825 the following morning, hoping none of the passing people were taking any notice of him. How embarrassing was it going to be when no one actually turned up to pick him up? He wished they'd never offered, then he wouldn't be in this position now. If they hadn't offered, he wouldn't have to wait here 'in case' they turned up. His stomach churned and he took a deep breath trying to calm it.

For the first time in an age, he allowed his thoughts to travel back to a time when he'd been more confident, when he'd been with a team who cared and had his back. He balanced carefully and let one hand come up to wipe across his face, trying to pull himself together.

There was a very good reason why he'd stopped thinking of them all he reminded himself. It wasn't that he didn't care, that he didn't miss them : it was the opposite, the fact that even now two years later, he still wished he could change the past. He didn't think that feeling would ever go away. Nothing could ever replace those lost lives, nothing could take away the grief and regret or the memories of a disastrous mission in the mountain passes of Afghanistan. It didn't stop him trying to do the right thing, trying to be the man they made him and not sink to the level of those teams he'd been put with since; teams who didn't know the meaning of honor and pride, men who weren't fighting for freedom and justice.

He looked up sharply at the sound of a car horn as Pooch pulled up next to him and opened his door to climb out, admonishing Jensen as he did so, to sit still and stop trying to getting out. "Sorry! We were nearly late thanks to Jay – seriously can a soldier actually be any more disorganized?" Pooch opened the rear door and held it as Carlos carefully tried to position himself to get into the car. Pooch took hold of the crutches as Carlos lowered himself down to the seat and lifted his legs in, shifting to get into a comfortable position before Pooch handed him the crutches to settle alongside him with Jensen's.

"Morning, dude," Jensen called cheerily from the front passenger seat. "Sleep well?"

"It was alright," Carlos answered, not bothering to tell them how he rarely slept well in the noise of so many people in the barracks and he longed for a time when he could have the freedom to live somewhere smaller and less impersonal.

Pooch dropped the two of them at the medical center, telling Jensen to give him a call when he knew what time they'd need picking up. Jensen waved exuberantly as Pooch drove away and Carlos and Jensen began to make their way inside. Jensen wasn't the kind to say they would pick him up and then not bother turning up. He should have known that; Carlos knew he should have recognized the sincerity of the friendship. Jensen was chattering away again and Carlos could feel as the tension that had built up as he'd waited eased and he could begin to enjoy Jensen's company again.

They were both pretty exhausted by the time they'd finished their rehab and Jensen suggested they go outside to sit and enjoy the fresh air while they waited for Pooch to come and fetch them. When Carlos tried to say he'd make his own way back, Jensen seemed hurt and he found himself quickly backtracking to say he'd wait and that he would appreciate the lift back.

There was a small grass area with seats; the two of them made their way over and settled down before Jensen got his phone out and made the call to Pooch. He'd hung the phone up and put it back in his pocket before turning his full gaze onto Carlos. He bit his lip as if thinking and Carlos found himself looking away, trying desperately to think of something to say quickly before Jensen had the chance to ask him anything.

"Carlos, you look worried about something? You okay?" Jensen asked.

Carlos nodded and fidgeted with his crutches, balancing and re-balancing them against the seat next to him as if they were about to slip.

"Can I tell you something?" Jensen suddenly said. It wasn't what Carlos had been expecting, but telling meant it wasn't a question and that was fine by him so he looked up and gave a quirk of the lips towards a smile and an inclination of the head as if to say 'Go ahead.'

Jensen drew a breath, turned to face Carlos and moved closer, putting one hand out as if to stop him bolting. For an instant, Carlos panicked, what if Jensen intended doing something, 'moving on him' by way of explaining that he was gay and that he felt something between them. Carlos struggled for an instant to take a breath, all the while mentally praying that wasn't what Jensen was going to do. He had nothing against gay men, he knew it would be hypocritical if he did, but there was a world of distance between being it and doing anything about it in broad daylight on an army post; any time on post, he added.

"Hey, hey, breathe," Jensen said, anxiety clear. "Listen if you don't want to talk about this then all you need to do is tell me to shut it or whatever." His hand hovered, but didn't make contact as if he could sense Carlos' discomfort. "Carlos, I'm worried about you . . . You said you were between teams; you barely speak, you've got injuries but no one comes to visit – seriously, Carlos, even outside your team, you can have friends." There was a pause, then Jensen added, "And, man, I don't think you're happy."

Carlos huffed out a breath. It was worse than a question, Jensen had seen inside him and . . . He shivered, aware of Jensen's gaze still on him. "I'm in the Army. It's not about being happy," he said quietly.

Jensen sighed, "Nobody's happy all the time in any job and this one does in fact suck at times . . . unbelievable as that may sound. It means you have to find the good when you can and . . . I'm not sure you're doing that."

Carlos looked up, eyes dark and menacing, "You know nothing about it!"

Jensen shrugged, "Then tell me."

Carlos gripped his crutches tightly, wanting to just get up and leave but knowing that he wouldn't get far; he was tired already and definitely didn't have the energy left to make it back to his barracks. "Leave me alone, Jake," he gritted the words out, forced his way back to his feet and made his way over to a nearby tree. He leaned back and closed his eyes, doing his best to ignore Jensen's presence.

When Pooch pulled up, the two of them were still waiting on opposite sides of the clearing in silence. Pooch took in the tense atmosphere between them and wondered what Jensen had done, which boundary he'd overstepped. He wondered if the kid would ever learn to control his mouth and curiosity. He meant well, Pooch had no doubt of that, but he approached life with such boundless enthusiasm to fix everything and for everybody to be happy that he tended to bulldoze through everybody's shit in the hope it would improve things. Pooch didn't know how he'd got so far without losing the eternal optimism.

Pooch liked Carlos, didn't know what his history was, but had seen the shadows in his eyes that spoke of difficult campaigns and loss. He was just the kind of person who needed Jensen's spark to lighten the load, but he'd need time to adjust. Pooch headed for Carlos first, a word or two to get him moving and then the same offer of help as he lowered himself into the back seat.

Shutting the door and making his way to Jensen gave him long enough to glare at Jensen and to mutter, "What did you say? Geez, Jensen, give the poor guy a break before you try to get inside his head or whatever." Jensen looked sheepish. "Apologize to him or you're going to lose a friend, bro." Jensen nodded.

Pooch helped him into the car and then dawdled his way round the car, stopping to tie a shoelace that wasn't actually untied, hoping that Jensen took the initiative while he had the chance. As he climbed into the driver's seat a couple of minutes later, he saw that Jensen had a familiar color to his cheeks; Pooch had seen it before, normally when Jensen had had to make a sincere apology to someone. Carlos was quiet in the back seat, eyes kept firmly out of the window as if unsure of how to proceed.

Pooch figured if Jensen had tried the apology and it had been accepted, which he knew from experience it must have been, otherwise Jensen would still be pleading now, then it was up to him to break the ice with 'normal' conversation. And maybe, just maybe, Jensen might learn a lesson at the same time as to what normal conversation actually was.

"How did the morning go, Carlos?" Pooch asked with a smile.

"It was hard work, but it went okay," came the answer from behind him. There were a few moments of silence, then he spoke again. "It is surprising how difficult it is to get fit again after injury. I thought I was fit before."

"Totally, man, I get exactly what you're saying. Seriously it's not like we've been out of action that long, is it?"

"No," Carlos replied quietly.

"Don't worry, guys, the rehab will have you both fit and well again before you know it." Pooch kept with safe topics all the way back to Carlos' barracks, steering Jensen back on track, every time he started to cross the line with a frown or just by talking over him and making sure they all followed his direction.

It meant that Carlos had relaxed a little by the time they made it there and so Pooch didn't hesitate to make arrangements to collect him at the same time in the morning two days' later ready for more rehab. As they drove away, Jensen let out a huge sigh of relief, adding, "I nearly fucked that up!"

"Yeah, you did, Jay. I know you mean well, but you need to really think before you open your mouth sometimes. Bro, you barely know him and I get maybe you'd like to know him more, but not everyone is quite so 'in to' having their privacy invaded by a virtual stranger. Now tell me, you didn't try hitting on him! Please!"

"I – I didn't, it wasn't that, honest."

Pooch sighed, "What did you do?"

"I . . . ummm . . . I said I was worried about him, because he didn't have any friends and no one was visiting him and he wasn't happy."

There were times when Pooch just wanted to bang his head against the steering wheel; more frequent were the ones when he wanted to do it to Jensen and see if maybe that would teach him a lesson.

"He . . . he almost had a panic attack, but he didn't tell me to shut up . . . well not exactly anyway."

* * *

><p>It was a quiet day. Carlos stayed in the barracks for most of the day, ignoring the looks of the other soldiers who were around on and off during the day. He practised his rehab exercises for as long as he could bear the pain, took a break and read for a while, before starting again. It wasn't until he was getting ready to turn in that evening that he realized the only person he'd spoken to all day was the one person who had offered to help him maneuver both tray and crutches in the mess. They hadn't stuck around to talk while he ate, but he supposed he should just be grateful that anyone had been kind enough to help at all.<p>

He took the last dose of the day's painkillers before he lay down, hopeful that they would help him sleep. He closed his eyes and thought of the previous day, how much lighter he'd felt in the time he'd spent with Jensen and Pooch.

His mind played over all the scenarios that could come about from admitting the truth about who he was to Jensen or his team-mates. He bit his lip trying to distract himself from the pain of this isolation and loneliness. Jensen was offering friendship, but who did Jensen want to be friends with? Carlos was certain it wasn't the real him, nobody had wanted to know the real him in a long time. He wasn't sure he even knew who the real Carlos was now, because he couldn't see any way back to being the man he'd used to be.

He knew he needed to try and be better, be someone the others could like, even if it were only an act. He wasn't sure how much longer he could take the isolation, so the only alternative was to be someone this team would continue to offer their friendship to and hope that others would accept him as a result.

* * *

><p>As Pooch pulled up outside Carlos' barracks, he gave Jensen one last warning to behave. He knew the tech was going to try. He'd found him googling safe topics to talk about the previous day. Half of him wanted to laugh, the other half couldn't decide whether to try shake some sense into Jensen's goofball brain or hugging him for trying so hard to be a good friend. He'd defend Jensen to the ends of the earth, for one thing he was sure of was the man had a heart of gold, a heart that hadn't tarnished through his own struggles for acceptance but instead had grown and seemed to shine ever brighter.<p>

Leaving Jensen in the car, he got out and headed into the barracks wondering where Carlos was. As he went in through the door, he heard a commotion round the corner and the sound of something metallic falling to the floor and a sneering voice saying, "So, Alvarez, what are you going to do about this then?"

Pooch hurried forward, rounding the corner and taking in the situation quickly. Carlos was pinned against the wall by two men, one of his crutches lying on the floor. The man Pooch had heard was right up in his face, sneering and threatening. Pooch recognized him, had seen him in a few bar fights. He looked at Carlos, saw his face calm and cold, looking down Pooch caught the glint of metal in his hand. The decision was an easy one to make, Pooch stepped forward, slipped his arm around the neck of the less threatening of the men and pulled him away.

When the man tried to struggle, Pooch just sneered menacingly into his ear, "Oh, I wouldn't do that, Private. Not unless you want even more trouble than you're already in!" He kept his eyes on Carlos, saw as the man shifted his weight, catching the other man off-guard and letting him fall closer.

A millisecond later and Carlos had twisted his body, using his weight and the element of surprise to drive his attacker round and into the wall, where he held him with a knife to his jugular. "Still think you have a right to anything, Private?" Carlos gritted out the words. "Can't even take on an injured man and win. Waste of fucking space." He allowed the knife to draw a thin line across the man's skin, enough to let blood well to the surface without doing any real damage, just to prove that he could have done much worse.

Pooch twisted the arm of his captive higher up his back and demanded, "What the fuck do you think you're playing at?" He saw the flash in Carlos' eyes that showed the man wished he hadn't asked the question, but this Pooch wasn't going to let go.

"Major McKee told us to look out for Alvarez and to make sure he learned his lesson this time. We don't need his kind around here to jinx any more teams."

"I think you got that the wrong way round. It's your type we don't need around here!" Pooch slammed the man forwards into the wall, hearing the impact as his head hit hard and the man stumbled. Pooch let him go watching as he dropped to the floor. Carlos pushed the other man away as well, before trying to get his balance enough to bend over and retrieve the fallen crutch. Pooch was there before him, lifting it and holding it out, deliberately persisting in his attempts to catch Carlos' eyes and check that he was going to be alright.

"Neat move, bro," Pooch said. "Teach the little fuckers a lesson."

Carlos shrugged as if to brush away the conversation, then his expression changed as something else clearly sprang to mind and he lifted his head and looked straight at Pooch before adding, "I doubt it. That type rarely learns."

"That type doesn't have any brain cells to store the information in. You should get out of here rather than putting up with that shit. Nobody needs assholes like them. So Major McKee, huh? Mr My-head-is-so-far-up-my-own-ass-calling-me-dickhead-is-actually-accurate himself. Waste of space, time, money, oxygen, you name it. Ask me that guy needs taking out and shooting to put the rest of us out of our misery."

"Yeah, that would be good. How's Jake this morning? He was really pushing himself the day before yesterday; the physiotherapist told him to ease up a few times."

"Really? He kept that one quiet. Not like it's that big a surprise with our Jay. He never learns to listen. For a bright guy . . ." Pooch smirked at Carlos, hoping that he would see more into what he was actually saying. "He's got a heart of gold, you know. There isn't anything he wouldn't do for a friend; any kind of friend."

"Si," Carlos answered and Pooch held the outside door open for him as they headed back to Pooch's car and the waiting Jensen.

Opening the car door, they were both regaled with Jensen declaring his relief that _finally_ they'd made it and he was worried and about to send out a search party. The repetitions of concern and panic repeated themselves, embellishing in the process as Jensen's imagination ran wild and by the time Pooch took his place behind the steering wheel and looked over his shoulder, he and Carlos were able to share smirks of amusement, neither of them mentioning the actual cause of the delay.

* * *

><p>The two men were making their way out of the center when Jensen suddenly said, "You know, if you're bored, Pooch and I were going to go see a movie and you could come too, if you were bored and had nothing else that you had to do and you know I can be quiet while the movie's showing, if it's good, I guess. . . I mean sometimes I talk but Pooch just tells me to shut up and if it's good then I'm, you know, watching and I don't talk then . . . much."<p>

Carlos laughed, "You don't talk much?" Jensen flushed pink and looked away for a moment before turning back with a sheepish grin. "Yes," Carlos said suddenly, "yes, I'd like to come with you."

Jensen's grin widened and he started regaling his companion with lists of the films showing at the local movie theater and their reviews. Carlos was amazed at how many different reviews he could quote for so many movies.

When Pooch arrived, he took one look at the two of them, slinging an arm over Jensen's shoulder as he clapped a hand over his friend's mouth and laughed, "Man, you've got to learn not to let him get started, because then he never stops. Film reviews – this guy translates Japanese reviews to films to make sure he's got every possible point of view known to man. The best tack to take is to say. . ." He turned to face Jensen, still not moving his hand as he said, "Jensen, two movies – the best two – tell me their names, their starting times and who's in them. Then I want to know what the trailer said . . .Jensen, that is all I want to know! You've been warned!"

As he lifted his hand away, Jensen laughed before giving Pooch exactly the information he'd asked for about two movies. Pooch then turned back to Cougar and said, "So any preference?"

* * *

><p>The three men left the movie theater in the early evening and it was Pooch's turn to suggest that they grabbed a bite to eat at the local diner, pleased when yet again Carlos agreed to accompany them. The walls were coming down slowly and Carlos still seemed relaxed. In fact being away from post appeared to be doing him a world of good.<p>

While Jensen and Carlos had been at rehab, he'd caught up with Clay and mentioned what he'd seen and intervened on in the barracks. It was always better to get these things out in the open and have Clay know before he heard it by word of mouth or worse, actual complaint. Pooch knew he was in the right, knew that with the full story Clay would agree. The surprise had been not Clay's agreement but the puzzled look he'd got on his face as if he was trying to put pieces together. The conversation hadn't gone any further at that point, but Pooch knew Clay well enough to be sure that the man hadn't finished with the situation.

It was getting late by the time the three of them were getting back into the car after eating and Jensen had been getting progressively more clumsy as he'd grown tired. He also hadn't brought any painkillers out with him, and it was clear to both Pooch and Carlos that although he wasn't complaining, Jensen was in pain. After getting Jensen into the car, Pooch turned back to help Carlos, finding him almost into his seat already. As he moved to close the door, Carlos said, "I don't know where you all live, but if you want to take him back first so he can get something for his pain I don't mind."

"You sure, bro? It would probably be better if I did. The worse it gets, the crankier he'll be. But are you okay? I mean are you in pain, do you need to get back quickly?"

Carlos slipped his hand into his pocket and retrieved a small bottle of meds, which he shook to imply he'd taken them already. It was enough to reassure Pooch, who said, "Thanks, I'll get him home and then run you back."

Pulling up outside their house, Pooch put the car in park and got out to help Jensen. Jensen swore softly as he jarred his leg on the kerb and Pooch hovered worried. Inside the house, Pooch sent Jensen to his room so he could get laid down, promising to bring his meds through to him before he left to take Carlos back to post.

He met Clay in the kitchen, explaining quickly what he was planning. "Carlos? The guy from the hospital with Jensen?" Clay asked. "The guy from this morning?" When Pooch agreed, Clay told him to stay home and look after Jensen and he would run Carlos back.

Pooch took one look at his CO and knew there was more to the offer than simple generosity and that Clay was just taking advantage of the available opportunity. Pooch tossed his keys to Clay and turned back to get Jensen some water to go with his meds.

* * *

><p>It hadn't taken a lot of digging on Clay's part to find out enough to know who Carlos really was. The source of the ongoing problem was a different matter. Pooch had mentioned McKee, a man Clay had nothing but contempt for, but a cursory glance over Carlos' records showed the problems had started before McKee. He'd had his suspicions about the man's well-being while he was Jensen's room-mate in the hospital. As a CO, Clay couldn't fail to notice when the man flinched and when he seemed to be watching the team interactions with what verged on envy.<p>

Now was his chance to try and create enough trust to find out the truth, or as much as he could. He made his way out to the car, Pooch's keys swinging from one finger. As he approached, he saw that Carlos was just finishing transferring to the front passenger seat. "Hey," he greeted. "If it's okay with you, I'll give you a lift back. Pooch is better at dealing with Jensen when he's tired and grumpy. Roque is as likely to call him a prissy little bitch and tell him to suck it up and well . . . he's not in my bad books at the minute, no point giving him the opportunity to piss me off just because he's cranky."

Carlos looked down at his hands as if embarrassed by the turn of events, grateful for an instant that at least this time there was no reason for Clay to be hanging around or coming into the building as Pooch had done that morning. "I'm sure Pooch would be good at it," he said quietly.

"Yeah, you're right there. He's a good man, not that Jensen isn't! He's . . . more of an acquired taste! But I'm guessing I don't need to tell you how good my team are, not the amount you've all been hanging out, do I?"

"No sir. I'll erm . . . it won't happen again, sir."

Clay's hackles rose and he had to fight the urge to react angrily, the desire to tell Carlos to man up and fight for friendships if he wanted them. This was the army and the lines some teams would cross . . . Clay wouldn't entertain the thoughts, but knew perfectly well it didn't mean that Carlos hadn't been on the receiving end. They drove in silence for a few minutes, Clay breathing out carefully trying to expel the urge to over react.

When he was calm again, he decided on another tack. "That wasn't what I meant. Seriously if you can put up with the team, you're welcome to them. So have you ever thought of training for Special Ops?" He was playing ignorant when in truth he already knew Carlos was both highly trained, one of the best snipers in recent years, who, until the fuck-up in Afghanistan, which had in no way been his fault, had been highly sought after.

"I'm trained already. I'm just . . . between teams."

"Between teams . . . right . . ." Clay let some of the weight of his expression cloud his words, but not all of it. "McKee . . . Major I'm a Fucking idiot eight days a week. Was he your last CO?"

Clay couldn't fail to notice both the tension in Carlos' position and the way he'd suddenly looked at him in horror. To give the man credit, he answered the question, "No, he wasn't. He was the one before."

"Who was last?"

"Major Hickfield."

"Oooh nice, McKee's buddy. Idiocy is on par, but actual ability to think through an idea without help, none at all. That must have really sucked, two crap COs in a row. Probably makes you wonder what a man has to do to get one with at least half a brain and a clue which direction the mission objective is. Fuck, that pair couldn't catch the clap in a whore house without outside help and a GPS!"

"You know them?"

"I know all sorts," Clay turned his head to give Carlos the full effect of his gaze. "I know when a man might need a halfway decent team filled with good men and I also know when there might be a space on just such a team . . ." Clay left the idea hang, wondered what Carlos would do with the information he'd given him so far. He turned away back to the traffic and pulled away from the stoplight.

"There might be a space on such a team, but I couldn't fill it." The answer wasn't what Clay was expecting when it came a few minutes later just as he pulled up outside the barracks. Carlos opened the passenger door and let himself out carefully. "Thanks for the ride."

Clay debated with himself as he watched Carlos make his way steadily but slowly inside. The thought of what Pooch had intervened in that morning was enough to have him out of the car and heading in to the building after the other man. He caught sight of him just as he turned the corner to the left at the end of the corridor and sprinted after him.

Carlos surprised him as he came round the corner, almost cracking him across the head with a vicious swing of one crutch. Clay ducked just in time, narrowly missing the swipe of the crutch and convinced he felt a breeze through his hair as it passed over his head. "Shit, Carlos! It's me! Fuck, kid!"

Carlos was shaking, a look of wide-eyed terror on his face as he realized he'd just nearly taken out a Lieutenant Colonel who had done nothing to warrant it. Clay put a hand out to balance him, muttering something gruffly that was supposed to be a reassurance before turning Carlos back in the direction he'd been heading and hovering over him as he urged him back to his room.

Carlos reached the door and Clay couldn't fail to see the abuse that was scrawled across the door. It was unheard of in his day. There was always someone to watch over the men restricted to barracks by availability and cost of alternative accommodation and all the other myriad reasons that meant the barracks were never completely empty, but it appeared that had been allowed to slip. No consideration to the needs of some of the unassigned soldiers. The other worry was that so many of McKee's and Hickfield's men were roaming freely and causing trouble unchecked.

He could raise it with the Brass, but it didn't solve the problem in the short term. In the short term he wanted Carlos out; out of the barracks, out of this kind of ridiculous danger and out somewhere where he could begin to rebuild his confidence and become the man Clay had heard of. That man had been an ace sniper, a formidable friend who would have fought to the death for his team. That man had taken out an incomprehensible number of enemy guerrillas to try and save his team, but he'd been too late . . . too late when someone had launched a rocket from outside into the compound taking out the US soldiers and the guerrilla units inside. Carlos had seen it all from his hilltop perch; seen it all and been unable to do anything about it; unable to save anyone who mattered.

He'd barely made it out alive himself and then he'd almost been given a Section 8. Fuck, that kind of crass senselessness irritated the hell out of Clay – how did those psychiatric pencil pushers expect any soldier to come out of that kind of conflict unscathed? He wanted to package them up and drop the whole lot of them slap bang in the middle of some mess and see how 'normal' they came out!

It annoyed the hell out of Clay when some idiot seemed to think that team loyalty was expendable and a soldier should get over the loss of a team like that in the same way someone would deal with running out of gas just down the road from the gas station – darned inconvenient, but hell there would be plenty available to replace the loss.

"You should get out of here," Clay said, bluntly.

Carlos looked up at him, like he was an idiot and Clay couldn't help asking, "Why not?"

"And go where?"

Clay kept his gaze even as he said, "To our place. Jensen's room has a second bunk, if you could put up with his noise."

"Wouldn't that be . . . strange for your team? Having a stranger in their midst?"

"You're hardly a stranger now. Anyway, we're looking for a sniper."

"I'm not exactly fit for duty," Carlos said sullenly, not wanting to show how much he longed to take Clay's offer.

"In case you hadn't noticed, neither is Jensen. He's still got a few weeks before he's going to be up to scratch. If we get you on board there's other stuff we can work on as 'team-building' before you or he need to be fully active or mission bound." Clay saw the way Carlos watched him as he answered, recognized the attempts to conceal the longing to say yes and the almost disbelief that it was being offered at all. "Think on it, let me know what you decide. Jensen or Pooch will probably give you a call tomorrow if you want to talk to them about the idea." Clay stepped back toward the door, looking over his shoulder before heading out of sight. "I mean it, Cougar." He saw the sniper's eyes widen in fear at the name. "And while I remember, any trouble from any assholes here and you call me or you quote my name and tell them to get in touch."

Clay took a step back, his gaze still on the almost ashen color of Cougar's horrified face, wondering if he'd pushed too far, too fast. He looked round the barren room again, took in the abusive scrawl over the door and knew the man before him needed a way out pointed out to him, needed to know that he could take it and would have somewhere to go at the end of it; wanted by a real team, one that would have his back when it mattered.

"Call us if you need anything." Clay turned and headed out. He walked away, taking note of a couple of men lingering in the corridor, their eyes on Carlos' door and Clay hit them with his full Colonel glare until they scattered. It wasn't enough, but until the sniper made a move it was what he could do.

The sound of a door opening behind him followed by "Colonel Clay?" was a surprise. Clay turned and looked back, stepping back to the man he'd just left. He waited. "What you said . . . I'm not Cougar," the sniper's voice was barely a whisper. "Cougar died in Afghanistan with his team."

"No – no he didn't. Just like the cat he's named for, Cougar went away by himself to lick his wounds and heal. Now he's ready to come back out fighting. He's found a place where he's supposed to be. So are you ready to blow this joint? Are you coming with me tonight?"

Carlos stood silent, unsure how to respond so Clay spoke again, "Carlos, what happened out there was a shitfest. It was a fucking disaster, but it wasn't your fault and your team would have been proud of everything you did to try and get them out. The rocket strike wasn't your fault, there was nothing you could have done. I don't give a fuck what anyone's said to you since, I know the truth. I don't care what the shrinks said to you, no good man bounces back from shit like that. You lost a good team, one of the best, your family and you don't just get over it. You've had some fucking awful placements since, but now, if you want it, you can be one of us."

"I – I want it," his voice was still quiet, but there was a steely determination to it.

"Then let's grab your gear and get out of here."

It took less than a quarter hour to pack before Clay was slinging Carlos' kit bag on to his shoulder and hoisting a duffle bag with the other hand. There was nothing else in the room, a reminder of more issues they'd need to deal with later. So few attachments weren't a sign of good mental health, but Carlos was taking the first steps and Clay knew his team would be there to support him now. At last, he was going to have the sniper that had been missing from his team for so long.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

With Carlos' kit in the trunk and the sniper in the passenger seat, Clay hooked his phone out of his pocket as he walked round the car, calling Pooch quickly to fill him in and get the house into some sort of order before they arrived – first impressions and all that! Clay wanted to keep this sniper and turning up to the house to find Jensen hacking in his boxers or Pooch with the entrails of goodness only knew what mechanical device spread from the kitchen table all the way to the couch was not the impression Clay needed right now.

It also gave Pooch time to soften Roque up with a beer or two, before they got back, so he didn't over react with some sort of complaint about letting him know about changes to the team or letting him have a say in the matter or whatever crap he came up with.

Traffic wasn't bad, so the drive wouldn't take too long. Clay just quietly prayed that they wouldn't be walking into open warfare between Roque and Jensen because that really was the last thing they needed.

* * *

><p>Pooch flew round the house, tidying but if Roque dared to mention housework or cleaner or anything else when he got back, Pooch would bribe Jensen into taking electronic revenge via a bank account or two. Without a qualm.<p>

He poked his head round the door to Jensen's room where the tech was completely sacked out since taking the meds earlier. The room wasn't bad – nowhere near as bad as it could be and a quick scan reassured him that he could fairly easily transfer everything to one side of the room and Jensen still be able to negotiate with the crutches. "Jensen?" he prompted, hoping to get some sort of reaction, but the tech didn't even stir. Pooch stepped forward and started by clearing the second bed, dropping some stuff on to Jensen's chair and some into the bottom of his closet.

He left the room returning a few minutes later with a set of bedding that he proceeded to throw quickly over the bed, making it up at speed. He dragged a few more things across to Jensen's side of the room and even managed to shove some of it underneath the bed without disturbing Jensen's sleep at all. He shook his head as he left, finding it hard to believe that Jensen was so deeply asleep.

He was back in the kitchen and finishing washing the last of the dishes when he heard the car pull up outside. He'd have to explain about there not being enough room for all of Carlos' stuff tonight, but that when Jensen woke in the morning, they'd get on to sorting everything properly. He didn't think Carlos would be unduly worried, probably just relieved to get out of the barracks in honesty.

He made his way out to the car, figuring he could help carry in Carlos' bags with Clay while the new housemate made his way with his crutches. Pooch figured that by now he was probably almost as tired as Jensen.

Clay threw Pooch the keys to the trunk as he climbed out of the car and went round to help Carlos out. Pooch unlocked the trunk and saw just two bags inside. He looked up about to say something but Clay caught his eye and shook his head. With a shrug, Pooch grabbed the two bags inside, slammed the lid down and headed for the front door. He moved quickly through to Jensen's room, opening the door again and dropping the bags carefully at the foot of the empty bed.

As he stepped out again, Clay was just closing the front door. Carlos was hovering uncomfortably to the side, looking down at the floor as if he wasn't sure of his welcome even now. Pooch just grinned, hoping to put the other man at his ease. "Good to see you back! So you want a drink? I'd offer you a beer but with the meds?" He paused a moment and then added, "We've got coffee or soda if you prefer?"

"Coffee, thanks."

"Well, come in and make yourself at home, take the weight off your leg – it must be killing you by now. Roque's still out and Jensen's down for the count with his meds."

"Again?" Clay said in surprise. "We should get a permanent supply of this lot, for when we need a break! So the two-cent tour, couch and TV in here, kitchen through that door, you and Jensen in that one and one bathroom next door. Upstairs, there's myself, Roque and Pooch and another bathroom. We'll show you round more when you're more mobile. Sit down and relax. It's been a long day."

Carlos sat down and as Pooch returned with a couple of cups of coffee in his hand, he gratefully accepted one and began to sip. It was good, far better than what was available in the mess and judging by the look on Pooch's face that sentiment was written clearly all over his face. "Thanks," he said again with a small smile.

Pooch handed the second cup to Clay who also savored the first sip. "The best thing about not being on post or in the field – a decent cup of coffee." Clay and Pooch chatted for a while about Roque being out and whether there was any likelihood of one of them being called to go and retrieve him from a drunk tank or gutter somewhere before the night was over. It gave Carlos a little time to let the tension ease before Clay turned his attention back to him. "So, Cougar, I figure tomorrow we go back to post, get the relevant paperwork done to move you down here for good and while we're at it we get you made into a Loser like the rest of us. Any objection?"

Pooch seemed puzzled for a moment by the name, not failing to notice the way in which Carlos flinched at the name, but when Carlos nodded hesitantly, he let the confusion go, figuring there'd be a better time to ask, a time when Carlos wouldn't flinch anymore.

* * *

><p>The house was quiet, the only sound was the birds just beginning to chirrup with the first sign of the coming dawn and the breathing of . . . Jensen's eyes widened . . . the breathing of someone else in the room. Someone who wasn't Roque – definitely not enough snoring for it to be Roque, drunk because that was the only time he ever slept in Jensen's room. Whoever it was they were quiet and still and they hadn't realized that Jensen was awake yet.<p>

He moved slowly, so slowly, then figured it would be easier if he just pretended to turn in his sleep, so with a pretend snuffle, Jensen rolled over and let one hand slip over the side of the bed and close around one of his crutches. It was going to be difficult, but he might at least be able to defend himself long enough for the others to make it downstairs to help him out.

He took a few deep steadying breaths and then rolled again, this time pushing himself up swiftly and propelling himself across the room towards the door swinging his crutch wildly and letting out an almighty yodelling war cry that he was certain would have everyone within hearing distance quivering and quaking in their shoes.

He hit the light switch, surprised that the door was closed and there was no one in front of him. He swung the crutch in a lazy arc as if to just check there wasn't anyone anywhere else in the room. He heard movement outside the room, someone stumbling from the couch and swearing . . . definitely Roque. Fuck! He was gonna be in trouble now. He was also stuck. There was no way he was getting back to the bed with only one crutch and there was a distinct possibility he'd just done his leg more damage given the pain that was now throbbing through it.

"Jensen?" He jumped at the sound of his name, looked round and while the details were fuzzy, he could in fact make out someone sitting in the other bed. "Jensen, are you okay?"

"Errr. . ." he wasn't really sure what to say as his brain tried to process the fact that it at least sounded like Carlos was in the room.

Roque picked that moment to reach the door and fling it wide open, hitting Jensen in the process, further endangering his vertical position as he tried to put a hand out to stop it and instead wobbled violently. "What the fuck is going on in here?" Roque demanded drunkenly. He peered at Jensen's empty bed and then at Carlos before declaring, "What've you done with my tech? Huh?"

Jensen heard movement upstairs and knew that any moment they were about to be joined by the rest of the team and things would only get worse. "Here," he said awkwardly, watching as Roque turned, staggered a step or two closer, seemed to stop only to begin to fall further forward. He made it another step forward, ploughed into Jensen and began to slide to the floor taking the injured man with him just as Clay made it downstairs and stuck his head round the door.

"What the hell is going on in here?" Clay shouted, taking in the shocked appearance of Cougar still in bed, while Jensen and Roque were sprawled on the floor behind the door with Jensen moaning and cussing at Roque.

Clay reached over and grabbed the back of Roque's t-shirt hauling him up and off of Jensen. Roque swayed dangerously as he tried to regain his feet. "Fuckin' lil' idjit hidin' behin' clos'd doors and screechin' li' a banshee," Roque slurred. He looked at Clay blearily, "Don' look a' me li' that. I di'nt star' it!"

"You certainly didn't help," Clay answered drily, shoving his SiC out of the door before turning his attention to Jensen who was still on the floor. The tech had pulled himself round to lean against the wall, but was making no move to stand up and seemed to have his eyes closed, concentrating on his breathing. Clay sighed, turning as he heard Pooch behind him talking to Roque, who was still lamenting the fact that they had a tech with no common sense; lots of brains but no common sense. Clay couldn't help but agree with him under normal circumstances, but this was a little unusual even for Jensen.

He stepped closer and then crouched down in front of Jensen and waited for him to open his eyes. "Sorry," Jensen muttered as he opened his eyes. Clay could see him weighing his options and discarding a couple of trains of thought before he started to speak again. "I could hear there was someone else in the room and I didn't recognize it as any of you guys, so I . . . overreacted a bit."

"A bit? What did you think the someone was doing?" Clay asked. Jensen just shrugged.

Cougar coughed awkwardly and as Jensen and Clay both turned their attention to him, he apologized for the confusion. Clay waved the apology away, backed up by Jensen. Once his attention was on Carlos, Jensen began to enthuse in earnest about having a room-mate and it being really cool that there was someone else who he liked who was going to be staying and that it meant he didn't need to have drunken Roque in his room anymore and how he'd clear up all his shit and make sure there was plenty of room for them both.

Clay poked him in the chest to stop the ramble, giving him a disapproving glare at which Jensen finally subsided. "So, ready to try making it back to the bed now?" Clay asked once there was quiet. Jensen frowned and reached out to rub over where his leg hurt. Clay stopped the movement and instead called Pooch.

The two men hoisted Jensen up to balance between them on his good leg and with no weight on the injured limb. They then helped him back over to the bed and while Pooch fetched another round of painkillers and some water, Clay elevated his leg and made him as comfortable as possible, saying that if Jensen was feeling bad when he woke up again then he would take him to the medical center and get him checked out. Jensen nodded, took the meds gratefully from Pooch and settled himself back more comfortably.

Once Clay and Pooch had left, Jensen turned to Carlos and said, "Sorry, man. If I'd known it was you I wouldn't have . . . I guess you think I'm stupid now."

"No, it was a sensible reaction. I am sorry to have . . . unsettled you."

Jensen grinned, "This is gonna be good now though, right?" Carlos couldn't help but nod and Jensen felt his heart jump as he saw the flicker of a smile, small but definitely there on the other man's lips.

* * *

><p>When morning arrived properly, it was Carlos who insisted that Jensen go and see the doctor to get his leg checked, saying quietly that he'd seen both the way Jensen had fallen and how Roque had landed on him. Jensen had tried to play it down, but he wasn't able to hide just how much pain he was in and so when Carlos had Clay backing him up, Jensen gave up the argument.<p>

The house had been quiet and it wasn't until Clay brought Jensen back that things began to liven up. The doctor had said that he was lucky and he hadn't actually done any more serious damage. The relief to them all was marked and beyond an insistence that Jensen take extra care to keep the weight off his leg and whenever possible to rest with his leg elevated, the doctor had given him the all clear.

Roque appeared not long after Clay and Jensen returned, claiming it was Jensen's fault he was awake now because the tech had made so much noise on his return. Pooch had huffed a laugh and said in Jensen's defense that it wasn't that Jensen was noisy, but rather that Roque was feeling the after-effects of a night drinking heavily. Roque had protested that if he'd had a decent night's sleep without random people yelling like banshees, he wouldn't be suffering and it was living with Jensen that drove him to drink at the best of times.

Clay kept a careful eye on Cougar's reaction to the exchange, saw as his newest recruit frowned and tensed at the interchange between the rest of the team. Clay saw his gaze shift to rest on Jensen, who was resting on the couch, watching the others with amusement. The tension didn't completely leave Cougar, but it eased a fraction and that was enough for Clay at this stage. Cougar was carrying too many negative experiences to be able to easily accept the bizarre camaraderie of the Losers, but the slight drop in the tension showed that he was going to take cues from the rest of the team while he learned to accept it.

* * *

><p>As the afternoon wore on, Jensen didn't move from the couch, but with Clay and Roque out, Pooch had let him have his laptop before heading out into the garage. The TV was on, playing in the background as Jensen tapped away at the keyboard, looking up intermittently to ask Carlos a random question. "So given the choice would you prefer Hershey's or Reeses'?"<p>

"Erm . . . I – I don't know. I never thought about it."

"Seriously? Oh man, we'll have to get some and like eat loads until you decide. It's important to know these things in case of a crisis. Then you can prioritize."

"What kind of crisis?" Carlos asked, knowing that Jensen's reaction would be to chatter away on some random track for a few minutes without asking him anything. It wasn't that he was trying to keep himself apart. This was different, he realized. It was more to do with the way just being here, alongside this team, Jensen most of all, made him feel like he could let go of some of the tension that he'd been carrying.

He turned away from Jensen, still listening, but feeling a sudden surge of emotion that had nothing to do with what Jensen was saying and everything to do with having almost a feeling of being safe here.

"So Bruce Willis in Die Hard or Sylvester Stallone in . . ." Jensen paused for a moment as if trying to decide on a film, "Rambo? I was going to say Demolition Man, but, no, I think I'll stick with Rambo."

The complete illogical change of topic had Carlos looking back in surprise and a sudden shocked laugh burst from his lips. Jensen beamed and said, "You should smile more often. It suits you. Oh you know that saying about it takes 13 muscles to smile and 42 to frown or whatever. Well, that's not true. There are only about 36 facial muscles so yeah can't be that and then an anatomical research paper tried to work out which muscles were used when and they think that it's more like 12 to smile properly and 11 to frown. But and this is even better, particularly in our job, it only takes three to pull a trigger."

Carlos relaxed and smiled at the beaming tech. There was a nagging thought at the back of his mind about all the shit that would hit the fan about his transfer to this team. There would be reprisals he was sure, people making life difficult and trying to block the process, but it would be worth it.

In the end, it would all be worth it.

* * *

><p>Carlos had been living with The Losers for three days and life seemed to be settling in to a routine. He and Clay had dealt with the paperwork surrounding his change of accommodation without too many problems, although Clay had let it be known that he was disgusted with the ill-disciplined behavior in the barracks. When the pen-pushing desk jockey they'd been dealing with acted like he had no idea what Clay was talking about, Clay reacted badly. Slamming his fists down on the desk, he leaned in close and spoke in a low, menacing growl, "Well, I suggest someone, somewhere makes the effort to find out what's going on down there." Both Carlos and the man behind the desk flinched at the initial impact, but while the other man continued to cower before Clay, Carlos suddenly realized that Clay was fighting for him, standing up for him and that he had nothing to fear from the man who, with luck, would soon be his actual CO.<p>

The transfer papers for assignment took longer to arrange, but Clay was unwilling to back down in the pursuit of his missing sniper when he'd found one that he wanted to keep. He insisted on calling Carlos Cougar and refused to refer to him as anything else, even before the Brass when he was making his case for keeping Carlos with him.

Carlos couldn't figure out why Clay was so insistent, but he'd stopped fighting it as Clay just ignored his objections anyway. It wasn't too bad; nobody else called him that, so he figured he could survive for now with the memories that returned every time Clay used the dreaded name.

* * *

><p>Pooch had co-opted Jensen into helping with dinner. It was a good opportunity for him to talk to the tech alone without it being suspicious. He waited until Jensen was seated at the table before handing him a bag of potatoes with the instruction to peel, grateful that Jensen rarely groused about helping with kitchen duties and any complaints he did make tended to be light-hearted and amusing.<p>

Jensen started peeling with vigor even before Pooch had brought him over a pan to put the potatoes in. Once he was underway, Pooch turned his attention to his own preparations, fetching more vegetables and starting to prepare them. It was good to have real food when they weren't on a mission, made him at least appreciate the difference.

They worked together quietly for a few minutes before Jensen said, "So what is it that you're building up to asking me? Or telling me? I'm not sure which, but you look constipated so you're clearly trying to figure something out. Have I done something wrong again?"

Pooch relaxed, glad that Jensen seemed open to conversation and so it was that he began to talk. "So . . . Carlos . . . he seems to be settling in pretty well." Jensen nodded, beaming. "Yeah," Pooch continued, "The two of you seem okay . . ."

"We are - he's cool and you know, I've told him he only needs to tell me and I will shut up if he wants me to and he hasn't asked – not once so far!" Pooch shook his head at Jensen's own surprise at the turn of events. Pooch had come to the conclusion that while Jensen understood that he irritated other people, he didn't fully comprehend why or how he did it.

Pooch tossed a few ideas of how to broach the next subject without upsetting his well-intentioned team-mate. "Jensen, you know when you start on the whole questioning thing . . . that can be . . . a little . . ." Pooch seemed to be desperately seeking the right way to word what he wanted to say. "Intimidating," he finished at last. "I know you want to be friends and find out about him an' all but the constant questions is a bit much and the either or things . . . What's that all about? Anyone would think the way you sit tapping away at your computer while you're asking the questions that you were entering data into a database!"

Pooch really wasn't expecting the bright red flush that colored Jensen's complexion and the way he wouldn't look up from the table as the knife clattered from his hand.

"Jensen? Something you ought to tell me?"

Pooch would have had to admit that he was truly gobsmacked when Jensen admitted that he really did enter the information into a database, stuttering awkwardly that he'd done it with them all. Pooch knew he was staring, open-mouthed in horror and shook his head to try and clear it. "Jensen! Why?"

Jensen shrugged, still not looking up, as he answered quietly, "I didn't want to not know something important about you all and for it to matter and you all not like me because I'd forgotten something."

"Jensen!" Pooch gasped, knowing he had to get himself under control and actually try and understand the man he thought of as a friend. He took a deep breath, then asked, "Jensen, what can you tell me about me?"

"I know that you'd really like to ask Jolene to marry you and that you'd like to get her a place in Springfield." He was peering upward through his glasses without properly lifting his head. Pooch didn't reassure him, just gestured with a hand that he should continue. "I know that your favorite chocolate treats in the world so far are the Tim-tams that you get anyone going to Australia to bring back with them. That your favorite place to eat if you can't be with Jolene or go home to your Mamma, is the Thai place in town. I know you like red apples, not green and that given the choice you won't eat spinach, but you love just about every other vegetable to one extent or another. You never use cilantro when it's your turn to cook, but you like to use more garlic, chili powder and paprika than the rest of us combined – not necessarily all at once."

Pooch sighed, pulling out the chair opposite Jensen ready to try and explain to him why he didn't need to be putting stuff like that into a database, even if it was only one for his private use. "Jensen, when was the last time you accessed the stuff about me?"

"Oh – erm – I guess it would be a few months. I'm pretty sure the last information I put in there for you was Jolene's birthday and I was trying to decide whether Jolene should have an entry of her own now the two of you are getting pretty serious. I never did get back to it."

"So you remember all that about me without needing to look in the database you made about me?" Jensen nodded warily. "And there's probably a bunch of other stuff too…"

"Your first car was a . . ."

Pooch cut him off. "Jensen, you have an almost photographic memory for information. In fact, the only thing it appears you can't do is count cards, which is good by the way, before you start teaching yourself how. You do not need a database of information about me or any of the other guys; Carlos included."

"Supposing I forget something?"

"Like what? What my first car was? Then I'll borrow one of Roque's knives and chop your head off! Jensen, no one expects you to remember all that stuff; really, they don't! And if you've forgotten, what are you going to do about it? Walk away from a conversation to go and look it up on your laptop and then come back to talk – man, that would piss someone off more!"

Jensen's head hung as he murmured, "I just wanted to be a good friend . . . I never had many friends when I was at school. The ones I had were all geeks like me, so I knew what they liked and what they did. I didn't want to fuck up now I've got people who are normal as friends."

Pooch almost choked with laughter, "Normal? We're totally not counting Roque in that, are we?" With his laughter back under control, he added, "Jensen, ease up on yourself and on Carlos too. Deal?"

Jensen nodded and picked up the knife to start peeling again. He looked up at the end of the next potato and said, "Why'd you think Clay keeps calling him Cougar?"

Pooch sighed, "I figure that's just one of those things that we wait to find out, bro. Next time, Clay does it, watch Carlos. Discreetly, man, don't stare at him or anything, but just watch and you'll see why we don't ask. We have to wait till he's ready to tell us or Clay figures it's time."

"Don't you get curious and want to know stuff like that though?" Jensen urged.

"Of course, I do, Jensen. I'm not dead, but sometimes, it has to be not about what you want to know, but about what someone's ready to tell you."

"Man, you're like really clever with people. Me, I just don't get it." Jensen looked embarrassed. "I guess it's why I never get a date."

"Dude, pink t-shirts, gay, in the army . . . you being you is probably the least of your problems. You'll find the right guy one day."

* * *

><p>Ever since dinner, Jensen had seemed preoccupied, lost in his own thoughts and barely talking to anyone. Carlos hadn't seen this reaction from him before. It worried him a little, wondering where the fun-loving man he had come to know over the last few days had gone.<p>

Jensen had gone to bed early and Carlos had followed soon after, concern that perhaps there was something bothering the younger man, and perhaps it was time for him to try to help.

Entering their shared room, Carlos left his crutches propped against the wall and walked the last few steps unaided. It was a relief to be able to manage that now, another sign that he was well on the way to healing. There was a small surge of guilt that Jensen was not so far along with his recovery thanks to the night Carlos had moved in and Jensen's fall with Roque on top of him. There'd been no severe damage, just enough to delay Jensen's recovery by a few more days.

Having seen how much energy Jensen threw into everything and how carefully the rest of the team monitored his sugar intake, Carlos could only assume that Jensen was normally even more hyper than he'd so far seen. That theory was enough to emphasize even more starkly how strange the evening's behavior had been.

Jensen was already in bed, laid on his side facing the wall and he didn't move when Carlos came in. It could mean he was asleep, but Carlos wasn't convinced. There was no sense of relaxation, muscles tense across Jensen's back, shoulders hunched up high as if he was trying to protect himself from attack.

Jensen was a tactile person, Carlos knew that and so with a quietly drawn breath to steady his nerves, he crossed the room and sat behind Jensen on the edge of his friend's bed. He didn't know what to say, so instead he reached out and laid a hand on Jensen's shoulder, his thumb coasting back and forth in a soothing motion. He waited, maintaining the motion but doing nothing more. Gradually Carlos felt some of the tension leave Jensen's shoulders, saw as he shifted slightly before finally falling asleep. Carlos stayed a while longer to make sure that Jensen was truly asleep, then stood and made his way to his own bed and finished his preparations for sleep.

As he laid down, he wasn't sure what to think about what he had done. He'd tried to offer friendship, it hadn't been rebuffed, rather Jensen had accepted the comfort and relaxed in his presence, but Carlos had no idea what it would mean for the morning. If Jensen had needed to talk, he hadn't offered that clearly enough, perhaps Jensen had felt that because he didn't say anything it meant he wouldn't be willing to listen.

It hadn't been this difficult before. Yes, he had been the last to join the team then too, but he'd also been the youngest, the one the others had looked out for. He'd thought they'd known everything; they'd all been confident, vibrant and alive and he'd felt like he was riding a wave with them. He'd hidden his preference for men from them at first, preferring to do without the sex rather than risk the companionship and friendship he'd got with the team. Post mission celebrations had been awkward as they'd celebrated and every time they had tried to find a girl for him and he'd flushed embarrassed, tried to pretend an interest he didn't have before letting the girl slip away, hoping they wouldn't notice.

Four missions in and his XO had taken him on one side and asked what the problem was, tried to persuade him to give them some clue as to what kind of girl he liked. He'd stuttered and stammered, tried to talk about commitment and long term and things like that before James had leaned back against a wall and laughed, not unkindly. Cougar, for that was who he'd been by then, had looked up surprised, felt as James' hand had landed on his shoulder and the man had gripped and shaken him gently, "Don't lie, Cougs. You trust us, right? You think it's gonna matter to us?" Cougar had looked at him blankly, no idea what assumption he'd come to, but convinced it would have nothing to do with the reality until he had said, "You wan' a dude, get a dude, man. Just don't tell us the details – we don't need to know about the size of his package, believe me!"

Carlos couldn't imagine having the same conversation with Roque. The man was terrifying, although he'd already seen he was fiercely protective of his team. Carlos didn't think he'd earned his place yet. He wanted to trust these men, didn't want to hide the truth, but he wanted to be part of this team. He fell asleep thinking about just how invested in this team he already was.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

It was still dark, when Jensen stirred, half aware of something 'wrong'. He shifted, wincing even in his sleep as the pain in his leg poked at his senses. He tried to get comfortable hoping to slip back to sleep, when he heard a whimper. His eyes snapped open, awake as he listened, heard a shuffle and another muffled moan from the bed beside him. He rolled over, ignoring the pain in his leg and sat up. He reached to the floor for a crutch and levered himself up to standing with its support. Carefully he crossed to Carlos' bed and sat down, feeling the shivering tension in Carlos' body.

"Carlos," he said softly. "Carlos, it's okay, you're here safe. You're with us now." It wasn't enough and as the nightmare continued, Jensen reached out to switch the bedside light on and then turned to shake Carlos awake.

When Carlos finally broke free of the nightmare, his eyes were red-rimmed, tears stained his cheeks and he was still shaking and panting. Jensen didn't hesitate to pull him closer, wrap his arms around him and rock him gently until he calmed and Jensen could be sure that he was back in the present here in the room.

They didn't talk, but Jensen shifted Carlos back to lying down before squeezing on to the bed behind him. He let one arm rest over Carlos' body, hand resting over Carlos' heart where he felt as Carlos' breathing and heart rate gradually calmed. When Carlos muttered an apology, Jensen just shushed him, whispering, "It's going to be okay now. You're with us, we've got you."

* * *

><p>Roque had no idea whether Carlos and Jensen would have got back to sleep after the nightmare they'd all heard. He didn't want to think about what Carlos might have been dreaming. They all had their own nightmares, more than enough. One thing he knew though was that Jensen was not a bad person to be around when one hit. Roque had seen or heard him calm them all at one point or another, his method was different with each of them, but there was always just enough physical contact to draw a person into the here and now, combined with the mumbled ramble of random nonsense that would break the train of the thoughts long enough for the nightmare's hold to shatter.<p>

He opened the door, surprised to find Jensen curled right round Carlos and the two men still sleeping. He grinned wickedly, looked back over his shoulder to see Pooch nearby and with a nod of his head, indicated that the other man should come and watch. He cleared his throat and then in his best parade ground voice, shouted, "Corporal Jensen! What exactly do you think you're doing, soldier? Alvarez is not your personal teddy bear!"

Jensen had jerked awake at the sound of his name, turning and almost falling off the bed in surprise. It had been enough to jar his leg so he didn't make any attempt to stand up, instead just sat on the side of the bed with his head in his hands, groaning. "Corporal!" Roque bellowed again.

Jensen just gave Roque a one-fingered salute before looking over his shoulder and grinning at Carlos. Carlos sat rigid, waiting to see what would happen next.

Pooch interrupted, "You really are an asshole, Roque!" pushing their XO away from the door. "And it's your turn in the kitchen."

Jensen fell back into the space on the bed, laughing, "That man is a prize ass! Seriously!" He rolled onto his side and looked up at Carlos, reaching a hand out to pat at his stomach as he said, "Don't worry, dude, there's nothing to worry about."

"We were . . ." Carlos looked away.

"Asleep, I know and he knew . . . it's no big deal. But don't worry, we can plan some revenge later." He smiled again, relaxed as he saw some of the tension leave Carlos. "You doing okay this morning?"

Carlos nodded and Jensen started to move away, when Carlos gripped his shoulder and suddenly blurted out, "My team died. All – all of them died but me."

Jensen settled back and waited, one hand reaching up to rest over Carlos' arm, thumb coasting back and forth as he waited for Carlos to say something else. The two of them sat in silence, until Carlos said again, "Th-They died."

Jensen sat up and pulled him closer as he saw a single tear fall from his eye. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

* * *

><p>It wasn't until after they'd finished their rehab and were waiting for Pooch to pick them up that Carlos remembered he'd been worried about Jensen the night before. Jensen had still been quiet that morning, but it was a different kind of quiet; Carlos felt that it was more in deference to his own revelations than anything directly relating to Jensen's own state of mind.<p>

He made his way slowly over to their usual seats, glad to be rid of his crutches at last, sorry that Jensen wasn't there yet, and very aware of how bad the atmosphere had been between Jensen and the physiotherapist that morning. Carlos hadn't caught the man's first comment but Jensen had started the morning telling him to go fuck himself with a considerable amount of vehemence. The two had then argued repeatedly throughout the session, Jensen blatantly ignoring the man until another member of staff had intervened with an apology to Jensen and a glare at his colleague. It was only as they left that Carlos heard the man's final jibe, "Fucking queers shouldn't be in the army."

Carlos turned to Jensen shocked; saw him gritting his teeth as he made his way out, turning just as he made it to the door, and calling back, "Yeah, but any one of them could hand you your ass on a plate, asshole, without even trying."

Jensen sat down when they were outside, exhaustion showing in every line of his body. Carlos moved closer to sit down. "Are you okay?" he asked softly.

Jensen nodded, closed his eyes and leaned back as if soaking up the sun. "Jensen."

He opened one eye and peered at Carlos, grinned as he said, "You're blocking my sun, dude. How's a pansy-ass white guy like me supposed to get a tan, if you're blocking the sun?"

Carlos shifted a little further away and wondered what he should do next. How did he get Jensen to talk to him? He kept his gaze on the younger man, surprised when Jensen turned his head towards him and opened his eyes again. "Are you planning revenge on Roque? Any good ideas yet? I've been trying to come up with something, but I'm just not sure yet. I can't believe I'm running out of good ideas. It's the lack of sugar, I'm sure of it. I'm going through withdrawal symptoms and no one is taking any notice!"

Carlos wondered for a moment if there was any truth to it, but decided that he doubted it. The team might have been limiting his sugar, but they hadn't denied him it completely. Jensen sighed dramatically, "Woe is me, for the world denieth me my candy!"

Carlos smirked and saw as Jensen smiled, wrinkling up his nose as if to prove that he had been toying with Carlos earlier. "What have you done to Roque before?" he asked, accepting Jensen's attempts to change the subject.

"Well, there was this time I put itching powder in his dress greens, but Clay found me before Roque and made me get them cleaned. Then there was the time he went for his medical and it was a new doc and she was expecting a woman – Wilamena Rock – now that was funny!" Jensen rambled contentedly, stories of the various team members until the car pulled up and Roque climbed out. Jensen fell silent with a sighed, "Oh fuck!"

"Hey there, ladies," Roque greeted. Jensen flipped him the bird before reaching for his crutches. "Niiiice, Jensen, very suave." Jensen shrugged. Roque took a look at Carlos and smiled at the lack of crutches, "You okay to the car on your own, bro?"

When Carlos nodded, Roque said, "Good," and turned his attention to Jensen. Carlos knew a dismissal when he heard one and began his slow walk to the car.

"What are you doing here?" Jensen asked, annoyance clear in his tone.

"Heard there'd been a problem. You okay?"

"Of course I'm okay. I'm not –"

"Jensen! You're not on your own, we've got your back and you know that!"

"Of course I fucking know that, but there's a whole world of difference between . . . I don't need anyone fighting for my honor! I'm quite capable of defending it for myself from an asshole like that!"

Jensen was already stalking his way down the path in pursuit of Carlos, so the continuing conversation could be heard by the team's newest member. Roque spoke again, "You know if you didn't wear the bright pink –"

"Quit it!" Jensen snapped. "I'm not on duty, I'll wear what I fucking well want to wear and everyone else can go to hell if they don't like it." He stormed ahead of Carlos, pulled open the back door of the car and threw himself in.

"Fuck!" Roque said in defeat, "I knew Clay should have come down, not me!" He looked at Carlos. "The guy inside, how hard a time was he giving Jensen?"

"It got out of hand – but they were arguing; it wasn't physical," Carlos assured him. "Another member of staff replaced him. I didn't hear the start of the argument."

"Fucker, I've half a mind to go in there and knock his teeth out. I'd like to see him pull his own weight on a Special Ops mission like Jensen does! Then he might think twice about hassling any members of my team." They were at the car and Roque pulled open the driver's door with almost as much force as Jensen had used on the rear door. The atmosphere in the car was tense with no one talking as Roque drove them back to the house.

* * *

><p>Jensen was out of the car before Roque had even had time to turn off the engine, forcing himself up the path to the house quickly despite the pain he was now in from the sudden movements and from not being careful. Roque paused long enough to make sure Carlos was on his feet and okay, before locking the car and running after Jensen, getting to the front door just in time to have it slam in his face. "Little shit!" he growled, fumbling in his pocket for a key to open the door again.<p>

By the time he'd got it open, Carlos had caught up to him and so rather than hurrying after Jensen, he paused long enough to help Carlos up the step and through the door. Pooch was just coming down the stairs as they made it in. "Where's Jay?" Roque shrugged and Pooch sighed, turning to head for Jensen's bedroom.

He poked his head round the door and found no one there and so he headed for the back door. He looked out and saw that Jensen was outside slumped in a garden chair with his crutches on the floor beside him. He watched as the younger man rubbed at his leg. He looked back at Carlos and said, "Would you bring Jay's meds out in five minutes or so, please?" Carlos nodded and Pooch pulled the door open and went out to join Jensen.

"Jay?"

"Roque's an ass."

"Tell me something we didn't already know," Pooch agreed.

"I can look after myself!"

"Again, I say, tell me something we didn't already know."

Jensen glared at him. "That doesn't make it right! He thinks he can . . ." he spluttered to a stop with a wave of his hand in the air. "I've had enough of everyone thinking that they can just pick on me, that I'm easy fucking pickings! Seriously, I could have taken that guy with just one crutch, but I didn't, because I've got some fucking self-control, and then because I didn't, everyone assumes that I can't and that I need fucking protecting from everything!"

"Jensen, you know it's not like that. Somebody phoned and said there'd been trouble – that's all Roque knew and have you ever known him to do subtle? Seriously, it could have been someone else in Special Ops for all he knew. Hell, Jay, you're just lucky we didn't all turn up."

"So what you're saying is you think I'm the one who over-reacted," Jensen pouted.

"Did he hit anyone this time?" Jensen shook his head and Pooch said, "In which case, yeah, I think you're the one who over-reacted – this time!"

Jensen slumped back in his chair, hands covering his face as he groaned, "Fuck! Do I have to apologize?" Pooch laughed and leaned across to ruffle Jensen's hair.

* * *

><p>Clay checked in on Jensen, concerned not just about the incident at the medical center that morning, but also by the fact that all three other members of the team had mentioned how often they'd seen Jensen rubbing at his leg as if he was in more pain than he was admitting.<p>

Jensen was tapping half-heartedly at his laptop, watching a bit of a video on YouTube then flicking to another. "Hey kid," Clay greeted. "Not talking to your niece and sister?"

"Did that earlier . . . my sister's putting her to bed now. School tomorrow and all that."

"Have you helped with her homework?"

Jensen gave him a grin, "Project on rainforests. We've done all the stuff you can eat to survive there, grubs, insects, trapping bigger stuff and how to prepare it."

Clay shook his head as he pictured exactly the sort of thing Jensen and his niece had decided on. "Is that what the teacher was expecting?"

"She wanted to know about rainforests – so now she'll know," Jensen finished with a shrug.

"All I can say is I'm glad I was never your teacher, smartass! So the leg still acting up? We need to get you into see the doc again and get it checked or what?"

"It'll be fine in a couple more days." Jensen didn't meet his eyes, looking back at the video playing on screen, until Clay leaned over and snapped the lid shut.

"You'll go in the morning and you'll tell the doc everything, including anything that happened this morning that shouldn't have. I heard about you throwing something at the guy. You want me involved? You got it."

"I can handle it," Jensen replied. "And I know you've all got my back if I need it."

"You're doing well with Cougar. He's going to fit in well, just needs some time. Was he okay after last night?"

Jensen looked away, unsure what to say without betraying a confidence. He bit his lip as he tried to figure out what he could say, but Clay got in first. "Jensen, I know what happened and what he's been through. I also know that he hasn't had a real team since. I know that you could be the key to him accepting a place with us permanently."

"I'm not good with people," Jensen said quietly.

"Yeah, you are when it counts, Jake." Clay pushed his chair back and stood up. "Don't forget that," he said as he left the room.

* * *

><p>Carlos was a little worried about heading to bed, fearful that there would be a repeat of the previous night's nightmare. He knew it was unavoidable; he was going to fall asleep somewhere, he was too tired not to. Jensen had been in their room for most of the evening, although Pooch had said it wasn't anything to worry about, despite everything that had gone on earlier in the day, it was just homework night.<p>

Carlos wasn't sure what homework night was, but it seemed to be an accepted part of their routine, so he tried to be positive that Jensen was not avoiding him. As his eyes started to drift closed again in front of the TV, he made the decision that he had to go to bed before he embarrassed himself by falling asleep in front of everyone.

Jensen was already in bed when he got there, he looked tired, but he glanced up and smiled. Carlos closed the door behind him and moved to sit down on his own bed. His head dropped as he leaned forward, stalling for a moment as he tried to get his thoughts in order. He heard Jensen shift and looked up to see the other man trying to get up. "Jensen," he said softly, halting the other man's movement. "I – I wanted to say – sorry about last night and – and thank you for being so – good about it, so understanding."

"You know if you want you can call me Jake or – or Jay, the others do when . . . when it's just us and I don't mind, you know, about last night or –or any night. It happens, yeah, it happens to us all and I can be here. Like I said, I don't mind and I know – I know what he said today and it's got nothing to do with that. I can be a friend, just a friend. You wouldn't have to worry, I promise."

Carlos looked up into the sincere eyes and hesitantly tried out the names, "Jake – Jay." Jensen smiled and he found himself smiling back. The smile only lasted a moment before it dropped away again and he admitted, "It might happen again." He added the word, "Memories," by way of explanation.

Jensen's eyes were soft, filled with understanding. "I'm not going anywhere, Carlos."

* * *

><p>Day by day, Carlos found it easier to get around. The team was watching him closely, offering advice and support and being willing to go with him if he wanted to take a walk to build up strength. He wasn't allowed to start proper training yet, and the team was going to make sure he didn't try to overdo it. One particular day, Roque had driven him out to the range so the two of them could get in some shooting practice.<p>

On their return, Jensen had been desperate for details, asking questions too fast for either of them to answer until Pooch came up behind him and clipped him around the head, telling him to shut up. Roque was enthusiastic about Carlos' skills, which he described in great detail. Jensen and Clay both looked on with pride while Carlos ducked his head and tried to downplay his achievement.

That night Jensen suggested they go out to celebrate Carlos' team membership. Clay agreed that it sounded like a good idea, but added that since Jensen was still on his crutches for another couple of days, as CO he was limiting Jensen's beers to two.

It didn't seem to curb Jensen's enthusiasm for the outing at all and he vanished into his room to get ready just after they'd finished eating dinner. By the time Carlos joined him a few minutes later, Jensen's bed was lost below a welter of t-shirts and Jensen was picking through them, holding them up one at a time before discarding them with a comment about their unsuitableness for the occasion.

"Hmmm, 'Don't Care Bears'. . . maybe not. It's a night with my boys tonight. . . I can do without pissing Roque off before I start." he muttered, hurling the t-shirt in his hand in the direction of the closet.

Carlos stood quietly watching, realizing that Jensen hadn't even noticed that he'd come into the room. "Not the Roque off-cast," Jensen muttered, holding up another that brought a smile to Carlos' face as he took in the pile of bodies and the slogan "My work here is done."

"Too much choice, maybe Pooch is right and I shouldn't have so many. So should it be zombies or coolness? Zombies or coolness . . . zombies or coolness . . ." Jensen was down to only three left on the bed and Carlos half wanted to go across and peer over his shoulder to see them more closely, the other half of him wanted to continue watching the performance of Jensen attempting to make the choice.

There was a sudden shout from outside the room. Pooch calling, "Jensen, are you ready yet? Clay says he's going to do a room inspection and if there are t-shirts everywhere, you're in the shit!" The door opened and Pooch leaned against the jamb taking in the sight before him. "Shit, man! You are so predictable, it's unbelievable!"

"Clay can't do room inspection, I'm not on post or in Basic anymore!"

"You do, however, share a room, Jensen. You think Carlos wants to be picking his way through all your crap?"

"It'll be gone before he even sees it," Jensen said, finally turning round and catching sight of Carlos smirking at him. "Or not, I guess," he sounded somewhat repentant. Then flushed red as he asked, "How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough," Carlos laughed.

Pooch was chuckling in the doorway, adding, "Jensen, you are so out of your depth. He so has your number, dude! So come on, princess, what are you wearing? What choices are we down to? Zombies Dance Crew, Zombies love me for my brain or I was uncool before being uncool was cool. Seriously, Jay, your brand of uncool will never be cool! Go with . . . fuck, what will it take to get you some normal clothes?"

Carlos stepped closer, smile broadening as he took in the slogans on the t-shirts. Pooch was just in the process of picking one up between finger and thumb as if it was contaminated.

"I –" Jensen paused a moment, then lifted his head high and said, "You won't lose me in a crowd."

"Believe me, I've tried . . ." Pooch agreed.

* * *

><p>The night was a good one with Jensen on form and entertaining everyone. The bar was fairly quiet, so they weren't bothered by anyone and both Clay and Roque kept their attention on their team, rather than looking out for conquests.<p>

Everything went so smoothly that as they left to go home, Jensen suggested a repeat a couple of days later to celebrate when he got rid of his crutches. The consensus was that it was a good idea.

* * *

><p>Cougar woke with a jolt, jerking upright and finding himself face to face with a concerned looking Jensen. "Carlos," he said softly, "It's okay, you're safe."<p>

Cougar's heart raced and for a moment, he didn't know where he was or what the man before him was talking about. A few rapid heartbeats later and a surge of emotion washed over him. Cougar had gone and he was just Carlos again. His eyes searched Jensen's face for anything; all he saw was understanding and his heart rate dropped again, his breathing calmed. He moved his hand letting the ends of his fingers rest on the back of Jensen's hand. Jensen smiled and said again softly, "You're safe with us."

The two men stayed still and quiet for a while, Carlos' breathing slowing back to normal, steadying as he soaked up Jensen's calm presence. He broke the silence, "They called me Cougar. My old team. They gave me the name after our first mission together."

Jensen nodded encouragingly and waited.

"They said it was because I could jump so far and I was so quiet. They thought I liked lying in wait, watching over them from the top of . . .wherever." His voice was tight, choked with emotion and Jensen shifted closer, turning so that he was a warm presence at Carlos' side, shoulders and arms just touching.

"I . . . I watched it all go wrong and I couldn't stop it, I couldn't save them." His breath was coming in short gasps again and Jensen slipped one arm around his shoulder, pulling him into his side and waiting quietly until Carlos was ready to continue.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Jensen off of his crutches as it turned out was much harder to control than Carlos and it began to feel like there was a constant litany of "Jensen, get your weight off that leg!", "Jensen, sit down before you fall down!" and "No, Jensen, you're not doing that yet. It's too soon." They all felt his frustration at the slow return to fitness.

But eventually they were there, all of them fit for duty, raring and ready to go. Clay returned from a meeting on post with the initial details of their next mission, something light to get them warmed back up had apparently been the description. He didn't say anything but hoped it was, needed it to be for Cougar's sake.

Sitting them all down, he ran through the details he'd been given before tossing a manila file across the table to Jensen and saying, "I'm sure you can improve on what's in there. Take a look and let me know in the morning how long it will take to get everything that we need. Oh, and that is not a pass for you to stay up all night looking into it." He looked down at his watch and then made eye contact with Jensen, glaring as he said, "No more than two hours before dinner and one after. Then you pack it in and rest. Are we clear?"

Jensen looked like he was about to object, when Carlos interrupted, "We are clear. Two hours now and one after dinner. We will be able to keep to that and in the morning, Jensen will be able to tell you how much longer he needs." He leaned back in his chair, seeming to be completely oblivious to the death glare he was getting from Jensen, the shocked expression on Roque's face and the way Pooch was trying to contain his laughter behind the hand he'd clamped over his own mouth.

Jensen growled ominously but said nothing, just pushed his chair back, grabbed the file and headed for his room, slamming the door closed behind him.

* * *

><p>Carlos wasn't really sure why the rest of the team were so adamant that he was the one to tell Jensen his time on the computer was up and it was time for dinner, but he went ahead, trying to put out of mind the grins on their faces.<p>

He knocked on the door and went straight in, crossing to sit on the end of Jensen's bed, next to where he was working at his desk engrossed in whatever he had up on the screen. Jensen didn't even look up, seemingly unaware of Carlos' presence. Carlos waited until his fingers stopped moving and he just appeared to be watching what was appearing on the screen.

"Jensen," he said, following the word with a tentative brush of his hand across Jensen's arm when Jensen hadn't reacted to the calling of his name. Jensen jumped, looking up at him startled and Carlos drew his hand back sharply with a rapid apology. Jensen's eyes flicked down to his hand and back up to the horrified look on Carlos' face. His expression suddenly softening to a smile as he reached out and patted Carlos' knee with an apology and the explanation that it was just surprise, he wasn't upset.

When Carlos quietly murmured that it was time for dinner, Jensen was quick to follow him, more concerned by Carlos' reaction and not wanting to give Carlos any further reason to think he'd done something wrong than he'd already accidentally done.

Jensen had no idea what the look on Roque's face was when he followed Carlos out of the room without complaint, but as Carlos sat down, Jensen saw money exchange hands from Roque to Pooch and frowned at the two of them. He knew the signs of them betting even if he didn't know what the latest bet was.

As dinner progressed, Carlos had retreated back into the silence they'd experienced when he first came to stay with them. Jensen kept looking up, unnerved by this step backwards in their friendship, not sure what he'd done wrong, but certain that somehow it was his fault. He flicked his gaze across to Pooch, silently begging the man to fix it, to somehow let him know what he had to do to make this right again, but Pooch looked almost as perturbed as he felt and apart from a few attempts to start conversations, he seemed to be at as much of a loss as Jensen.

Roque and Clay didn't seem to notice the change, talking over the upcoming mission with enthusiasm and already making mental notes of things to be prepared or considered in their plans.

Everyone had barely finished eating when Jensen snatched away their plates and headed for the kitchen to wash up, unable to bear sitting next to Carlos any longer, knowing he'd done something wrong but not knowing what. He couldn't decide whether he wanted to lock himself away with his laptop and ignore the rest of humanity until he could face the world knowing he was a huge fuck up or whether he wanted to get out of the house and run and run and run until he was so exhausted he wouldn't be able to think anymore.

Jensen hated himself for fucking up again. He'd always known he was a loser and not in a good way.

* * *

><p>Carlos could barely stay at the table, let alone eat the food on his plate; he couldn't believe that he'd been so stupid. He knew it had all seemed too good to be true and now he was proving himself right. He should never have reached out for Jensen like that. It was different for Jensen to offer the contact, Carlos had no right to take it when it wasn't offered. They had all just been waiting for him to mess up; he'd begun to trust them, fool that he was, and he'd seen the smile on Pooch's face as Roque handed over money. It hurt to think they'd been betting on how long it would take for him to mess up. He wanted nothing more than to go to his room, shut the door and be alone for as long as he could until Clay required his presence again, but that wasn't going to do him any good, because Jensen needed the room to keep working on his preparations for the mission.<p>

As soon as everyone had finished, Carlos watched as Jensen snatched up the plates and fled to the kitchen. Guilt surged and he was on his feet an instant later, heading for their shared room to get a jacket so he could go out. Pooch was also up and the two men almost collided as Pooch tried to follow Jensen. "Where are you off to so quickly?" Pooch asked, tone light.

Carlos backstepped a couple of paces, startled and unnerved by having to account for his actions at a time when he thought they'd be glad to see the back of him. The flurry of movement drew Roque and Clay's attention from their debate. "Everything okay?" Clay asked.

Carlos nodded, stepped round Pooch and almost ran to the bedroom. Pooch frowned and at Clay's prompting said, "Something's up. Jensen's rattled and Carlos . . . he looks completely freaked out."

Roque sighed. "You think Jensen hit on him? The kid wouldn't be that stupid, surely?" he questioned.

Clay's frown deepened and he huffed out a breath, turning to Roque and telling him not to be so stupid. Roque's raised eyebrow only drew another impatient growl from Clay. "Look, first Jensen is many things; completely stupid is not one of them. He's not going to hit on someone who shows absolutely no interest when they're part of our team. Secondly, you think the way he's been looking out for Cougar, he's going to deliberately sabotage the budding friendship. Thirdly, I'm pretty sure that Cougar will know how to turn a guy down if he's not interested without going completely . . ."

"You think? Seriously, any guy hit on me and he wouldn't see daylight for weeks," Roque interrupted.

"No one's going to mistake you for gay, bro," Pooch added with a smirk.

"And you think they're going to make that mistake with him?" Roque jerked his head in the direction of Carlos and Jensen's bedroom.

"It wouldn't be a mistake though, would it?" Clay said, confused.

"It wouldn't?" the twin voices of surprise had Clay wondering if maybe he'd got it wrong, but still there lingered the conviction that he was right, Cougar was gay.

Roque frowned suspiciously, then drawled, "Clay . . ." slowly. When Clay looked straight at him, he added, "This isn't like Amber, is it?"

"How could it be like Amber?"

"You were certain that Amber was young, free, single and no trouble!" Roque snapped. "Not exactly what the reality turned out to be now, was it?"

"I was only wrong on one of them! I didn't know she was married."

"My point and you weren't only wrong on one of them. There was only one you got right! And from what I heard about the plastic surgery her husband had already paid for even that might not have been true!"

Carlos picked that moment to come out of his room, curtailing any further discussion on the matter, but also giving Roque the opportunity to say, "Carlos, come here. I want to talk strategy and potential difficulties with you. I don't need my tech getting shot up again because there's any misunderstandings about what everyone's going to do!"

Carlos' expression changed; he looked cornered, like he wanted nothing more than to run for the door, but instead he walked slowly over to sit down in the chair Roque was pointing at. He looked round the table at everyone watching him and thought this was where they told him to keep his hands to himself, that Jensen didn't need someone like him trailing round after him. They were all looking at him as if waiting for him to say something and he swallowed nervously.

"Any thoughts?" Clay asked.

He flinched, saw as Clay sighed, eyes softening slightly.

"Cougar, everything's going to be fine. You can do this. Let's look over these plans now and you can tell us what you think and from there we can evaluate."

"I didn't mean anything by it," Carlos suddenly blurted out, drawing confused looks from the others round the table. "Sorry," he finished.

Pooch and Roque looked at each other and shrugged, before Clay said, "Okay, fine, we believe you. Now let's look at this," tapping a finger on the plans they had spread out over the table, trying to move them all on and brush over Carlos' comment.

Carlos leaned forward and began to look at the plans carefully. After a couple of minutes, he tapped his finger on a spot and said, "This is where I could provide the most cover. From there I can see all this ground," he traced his finger across the plan in an arc. "The areas I cannot see are here . . . here and here." He paused and then added, "If whoever goes in uses this access route, then I can cover them."

Roque followed the movement of Carlos' finger analytically. "That seems reasonable for us, but what about you? I think it's too exposed for you."

Carlos shuddered, "It will be fine."

Roque growled, "No, it won't. It's too exposed, you're at too much risk."

"Seriously, dude, you got a death wish?" Pooch said, sounding baffled. Carlos shrugged and turned his gaze back to the plans. "We need an alternative or some way to keep you safe there and on your way."

The men all leaned forward to pore over the plans again.

* * *

><p>There was nothing left to clean in the kitchen. Jensen had checked round another three times just to be sure. He'd washed up, cleaned the fridge. He'd even moved the microwave and cleaned underneath. He'd taken out the trash and now he was at a loss. He was pretty much left with no alternative but to leave the kitchen and walk past the others so they'd be looking at him with disappointment in their eyes that he'd fucked up again. It would be no different to their usual expectations of him, except that this time it really mattered and he'd been trying so hard to get it right.<p>

He took a deep breath and opened the door. They were all still at the table, poring over the plans of the complex they'd be infiltrating judging by the levels of concentration. No one looked up at him, they clearly didn't need his input. Why would they want anything to do with someone like him? Apart from his hacking skills, what use was he to the team?

He stood for a moment more watching before walking quietly past and heading for his room. He closed the door, unaware of the notice it drew from Clay and Roque.

He flicked his laptop back on but didn't sit down. As he waited for it to boot up, he moved round the room, picking up the few items of clothing he hadn't tidied away earlier, sorting round to make sure that he'd left nothing out of place to make sure he wasn't going to irritate Carlos in any more ways than he'd already done.

He finally sat down with a sigh, logged in and clicked to re-open the searches he'd been working on earlier. Thirty minutes later and he'd achieved absolutely nothing. He pushed back, leaving the laptop running and made his way to the window to look outside. His mind was too full to be able to concentrate, too occupied to be able to figure out how he'd managed to fuck everything up this time.

He was nervous as well; after all, the last sniper had thought it was okay to let him get shot: not that it really mattered he was only the tech and an annoying one at that. He needed to get rid of some energy. He slipped on a pair of sneakers, opened the window and climbed out. Minutes later he was jogging down the street steadily. He might have been given the all clear for duty, but there was no point in going flat out and risking damaging anything now; Roque and Clay were going to be pissed enough that he'd done something wrong to mess up the team dynamics again.

If he just ran for a while maybe he'd feel better, clearer; maybe the world would begin to make sense again and he'd be able to figure out what he'd done wrong and how to fix it.

* * *

><p>There was a beep from the direction of Jensen and Carlos' room and it only twinged on the attention of Carlos as they sat round the table, still discussing where he could position himself so that he was as safe as possible, while keeping guard over the other members of the team. So far all of his own suggestions had been vetoed as leaving him too vulnerable to exposure.<p>

The beep resounded again; this time Pooch and Clay looked up in its direction. Pooch glanced down at his watch and said, "Homework night."

Carlos felt the words on the tip of his tongue to ask what the now familiar term meant. He'd never been in the room for Homework night, had begun to make assumptions, but what he couldn't work out was how it had got its name. He pushed the urge down again, things might seem to be okay, but it was only a matter of time. As soon as they knew everything things would change, he was sure of it.

The beep continued, louder and more persistent and suddenly Clay shoved his chair back and strode across the room. He knocked once before opening the door and stepping in. "Fuck!" the expletive resounded in the silence.

Roque was up and across the room to join him before anyone else could react. Clay turned and met him at the door. "He's gone out the window. Pooch! Get in here . . . You're on homework duty – because . . ." Clay's voice trailed off.

Roque took over for him, "Jensen's with Clay checking out new tech equipment on post. Everything's fine."

"Why me?" Pooch asked. "Not that I mind chatting but how do I get homework duty?"

"Because you can cheat and lie at cards, so you stand the best chance of fooling them into believing we haven't just lost the little fucker. We'll go find him."

With an exaggerated sigh of frustration, Pooch headed over to the computer, waving them away before he activated the link. Carlos lingered a moment, out of sight of the webcam but just close enough to see round and see that on the screen there was now a young woman and a child. The child was bouncing excitedly with a smile that Carlos recognized as almost identical to that of his now missing room-mate. He realized just how far out of line he was. He had Jensen completely wrong; the pink t-shirts, the tactile friendliness, the queer comments of the physiotherapist, Carlos had begun to think that Jensen was gay. Now it was clear that Jensen had a wife, a child and everyone was going to think that Carlos was hitting on him. He shuddered, leaning heavily against the wall and wishing the ground would eat him up. He hadn't meant anything by the few touches, nothing beyond attracting Jensen's attention, offering his own friendship. Why the fuck did he do that? Hadn't he been through enough teams to know that the bond he'd had with his lost team had to be earned and the majority of teams were not going to give a man like him the time or energy to build that kind of trust.

A hand clamped on his shoulder and he flinched away, guiltily looking up and meeting Clay's eyes, surprised to see some sort of understanding there. He wondered what Clay really thought he knew, but the man tilted his head away from the room, gently pushed him further away and then pulled the door closed. Carlos wondered if he'd be this understanding once he knew that Carlos had upset Jensen by . . . Shit! Carlos didn't even know what – a million and one little things that could be taken in different ways. None of them had been meant to mean anything more than friendship and none of them should have mattered in the big team picture, but Carlos wasn't really part of the team, he was an outsider.

He was an outsider and he figured that would never change.

"We're going to go look for him, you want to come?" Carlos wasn't sure what the right answer was to the question; he couldn't work out whether they really wanted his help or not. What he wanted was enough time to apologize, to explain to Jensen that he'd meant nothing beyond getting his attention, that no matter how attractive he might think Jensen was, he would never want to do anything to sabotage their friendship, if Jensen was still willing to be friends now that the truth would come out.

* * *

><p>Jensen was tired. The gentle jog had gradually increased to a run, a desperate headlong sprint as he attempted to shut down his mind from the way it churned and twisted and replayed all the things he'd done wrong, all the ways he'd fucked up over and over again. He just needed someone to give him a manual for human interaction, something he could read and learn and maybe then he'd be able to do the right thing.<p>

One of these days, Clay was going to decide he wasn't worth the effort anymore; that he brought more trouble than he saved them. He was a good tech, Clay appreciated that, but there were other good techs out there, ones with less baggage and less fuck-ups.

He stumbled as his foot caught a stone and almost twisted. He barely stayed on his feet, staggering a few steps and slowing to a stop. He leaned panting against a wall and felt as his muscles protested the exercise, felt a too familiar twinge in his leg. It was nothing like it had been but it was a warning sign.

He leaned over, resting as his breathing slowed and deepened a little, knowing that he couldn't be so stupid as to risk any further damage. He looked up and saw a small park with a little play area. It was deserted and he made his way over to the swing set, sitting down and giving himself a push to swing back and forth gently.

He let his head drop to rest against his hand on the chain and wished he could figure out what to do to fix all of his mistakes.

* * *

><p>Clay jumped into the truck, starting the engine and leaving the property with a squeal of rubber before Carlos and Roque even had time to start the engine on the other car. Clay sped down the road, clearly hoping it wouldn't take too long to find Jensen.<p>

"Huh!" grunted Roque. "Looks like this is another well thought-out plan. We'll just speed off into the distance and hope to drive past the little pain in the ass."

"I'm sorry," Carlos said "I – I didn't mean to upset him and –"

"You? You upset him? Fuck! I assumed he was the one who fucked up!" Roque laughed. "Jensen'll recover in that case. So how did you manage to do that without actually shooting him, which is most people's reaction? Thought the two of you were getting along too well for anyone normal."

Roque caught the flinch out of the corner of his eye and sighed, softening his tone, "Carlos, it's not going to be that bad, believe me. If you say you're sorry, he'll be fine, whatever it was. He likes you too much to hold a grudge and I'm pretty sure he'll admit he did something to provoke you."

"He did nothing wrong," Carlos said defensively. "It was me . . . I – I –" He fell silent again.

Roque pulled the car off the road and into a parking lot, "Come on, out you get. We'll go check out some bars."

As Roque paused outside one bar and seemed to be steeling himself to go in, Carlos looked up and then in through the door at its patrons. He knew what this was, even if he'd never been here in the past. A gay bar. He baulked, not wanting to go in, wondering if this was some sort of joke. "Jensen wouldn't be here!" he blurted out surprising himself almost as much as Roque.

"Sure he would, not often but this is where he comes when he's on the pull." Roque frowned at Carlos' look of horror. His expression darkened and he snarled, "I knew Clay was fucking wrong." He moved up into Carlos' space, pushing him backwards threateningly. "You got a problem with Jensen being gay?"

Carlos shook his head startled. "No! No, but he has – his wife, his little girl!"

"Wife? Little girl? What the fuck are you talking about?" Carlos was shaking, his breath short and Roque's hands shifted from threatening to holding him up, leaning him against a wall for support. "Talk to me, Carlos, what the hell is going on?"

"I – I thought he knew – I didn't mean anything – his family though so he couldn't be – I shouldn't be here, I shouldn't be here, I shouldn't be here."

Roque couldn't make sense of half of what he was hearing, but it was more than he'd heard Carlos say since he joined them, so he stayed quiet and let the younger man get the words and the pain out. The one thing he had been able to glean was that Carlos hadn't realized Jensen was gay and had assumed he was married with a child. He didn't know how Carlos had missed it, but he waited until the emotional outpouring finished, then guided him back to the car.

Once he'd got Carlos in the car, he sat back in the driver's seat and turned to tell him a few home truths. Jensen was gay, the family he kept in touch with were his sister and niece and they were very close, homework night was when his niece would tell him her homework for the week and the two of them would chat and plan what she was going to do. It was an unbreakable 'date' unless they were on a mission or Jensen was out of action in hospital. For Jensen not to be there tonight, it was a problem, because he would never willingly let his niece worry about him. More than once Clay had turned a blind eye to Jensen hacking satellites once missions were over so that his niece would know they were all safe and well.

"I want you to stay here," Roque said when he finished. "I'm going to go in and look for Jensen. I'll be back in a few minutes. You don't go anywhere; there are still things I want to know about this whole deal, but for the minute you sit here and you calm down. I don't know what the fuck was going on in your old team, but it doesn't happen in ours!"

He got out of the car without giving Carlos time to answer and hurried back to the door of the bar, heading in and looking round for Jensen. It was a fairly quiet night, so when he didn't see any sign of Jensen, he headed to speak to the bartender who was quick to say that Jensen hadn't been there in months. Roque thanked him and headed back to the car. Just before he reached it, his cell rang. Answering it, he heard Clay and told him there was no sign of Jensen at the bar. He didn't have time to say anything about Carlos' outburst before he heard Clay say he had found their missing team-mate.

* * *

><p>Clay drove along the road, eyes searching constantly for any sign of Jensen. It wasn't like Jensen, or not any more. When they'd first acquired him, there'd been a lot of baggage to deal with; a lot of expectations of how he was going to be treated and how long they would put up with him. Clay thought they were past all of that, but he supposed it was possible that all the support he'd been giving Cougar could have triggered some of his own bad memories and he just needed some time to deal with them.<p>

Clay would prefer to know where he was and to remind him that the past was just that. The problem he supposed was the continual stream of unsuitable snipers had unsettled the team dynamic and Clay was well aware that Jensen had borne the brunt of some of that. He made an easy target and while for the most part he could stand his own ground and get his own back and he would always have the rest of the team at his back, it didn't stop the conflict wriggling into the cracks and picking away at the underlying vulnerability.

Jensen got stuff wrong, there was no doubt about it. For all his amazing knowledge and ability and no matter how good a soldier he was and Clay would say he was right up there with the best of them, Jensen found 'people' difficult to gauge. He would overstep the mark or wind people who didn't know him up the wrong way. He tried hard to do the right thing, but Clay was convinced that he was missing an understanding of some of the social cues that would tell him to back off.

The rest of the team were used to it, and used to keeping an eye on him with strangers. Had they missed something this time with Cougar though? Clay couldn't be sure. He thought again of Roque's comment about Jensen hitting on Cougar, but was absolutely certain that Jensen wouldn't have done it. Had he done something else though? Something that Cougar had misinterpreted because he was another one with too much emotional baggage to be healthy. He should have shifted the rooms around, given Cougar a room on his own until he settled in properly and understood both his own place in the team and the kind of person Jensen was. Hindsight was a great thing.

Then again, Cougar was having nightmares; the kind of nightmares that Clay would guess meant he was beginning to acknowledge and deal with some of the things that had happened in the past. Clay knew he'd even gone so far as to admit some of the things that had happened to him in conversation with Jensen. That was a huge step forward for someone who'd been on record for not talking at all to any of the psychologists, psychiatrists and counselors that they'd tried to force on him.

Clay sighed. He could go round and round in circles with the what ifs of hindsight, it wouldn't change anything and was as futile as his current driving round in circles looking for Jensen. He rounded a corner and saw the little park and the lone figure sitting on a swing.

Jensen looked completely forlorn, but Clay was certain they could fix this and so as he parked the car up, he fished out his cell and let Roque know that he'd located Jensen and they'd be back later.

* * *

><p>There was a point in time at which Clay had wondered whether Jensen actually sat in front of a mirror and practised some of his facial expressions, particularly the 'don't beat me, just feel sorry for me' one that Jensen was giving him right now as he approached across the grass. It was like a combination of guilt and hurt and Clay wished it wasn't directed at him.<p>

"Hey Jake," he said, as he lowered himself onto the swing alongside, hoping he wasn't too heavy.

"Sorry, I didn't mean you to come out looking for me. I thought maybe a bit of fresh air would help clear my head and then I could figure out what to do next."

"You know that's fine, but most people would use the front door," Clay kept his tone light, deliberately trying to keep any suggestion of judgment away. "So you want to tell me about it?"

Jensen shrugged and Clay waited. Eventually Jensen said, "I fucked up . . . I don't know how or why but I did and I don't know how to fix it." Jensen shifted awkwardly. Clay saw him rub at his leg and barely bit back the 'have you hurt your leg?' because he knew it would come out angry, even when it was supposed to be concern.

"What makes you think you fucked up?"

"The look on Carlos' face and . . . I always fuck everything good up."

Clay sighed, "You ever think maybe this is Cougar's fault, Cougar's fuck up." Jensen shook his head and opened his mouth. "Listen, Cougar's had some bad teams, maybe he's second guessing something you did that was fine and thinking it meant something else."

"But –"

"Jensen, you're not as strange as you seem to think you are. Yeah, you talk too much sometimes and, you know, the t-shirts are not my taste, but I have seen worse. Everyone has something in their past that screws up their thinking sometimes. You and I know what yours are. Cougar is quite capable of getting things wrong too and making you feel bad. He doesn't have to mean any harm, it can be a mistake, just like you make or I make."

"You don't make mistakes."

Clay couldn't help but laugh. "That's not what you were saying after Amber . . . or Emma!"

"Okay, you only make mistakes when women are involved."

"But I do that more often than a man my age should! You ready to come back now. There's a little girl waiting to talk to you, who is not going to be happy until she's talked to her favorite uncle."

"No! Shit! How did I forget? I've never ever forgotten before."

"Jensen, Pooch has told her you and I are on post sorting tech supplies. Your sister will be a different matter but I figure the little one will be fine if we hurry back now." Jensen was up and hurrying to the truck before Clay could even finish speaking.

* * *

><p>Clay pulled up outside the house and let Jensen hurry in. He stayed to watch whether Jensen was favoring his bad leg. Jensen could feel Clay's eyes on him and he made sure to keep his gait even and to hide any urge to wince. All his leg needed was rest he reminded himself. He heard Clay start to move the truck, ready to turn it round so he could park it up for the night. Jensen was almost at the door, relieved to be able to go inside and sit down without putting any more strain on his leg.<p>

He made it to his bedroom, banging the door back and making Pooch jump in the process. "Hey sweetheart," he called moving into the line of sight of the webcam. The accompanying squeal of delight had Pooch clapping his hands over his ears. He shifted across to the end of Jensen's bed allowing Jensen to sit down.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

When Roque got back to the house with Carlos, he led the way inside and pointed at the empty table where everyone had been sitting earlier in the evening. "Sit down!" he instructed abruptly. "We're not finished yet." There was no room for argument and Carlos slumped at the table, his whole posture radiating defeat.

Clay came out of the kitchen, cup of strong black coffee in one hand. "Oh, you're back at last," he greeted.

"Clay," Roque turned to his CO. "I thought he was a sniper – the best you said – we're going to keep him, you said." His tone was accusatory. "I think we need to chalk it up to the same fault in your reasoning skills that led to the Amber incident and the Emma debacle."

"What's the problem?" Clay asked, trying not to sound too concerned.

"Snipers are supposed to be observant. Snipers are supposed to be able to see what's right in front of them! This one is blind!"

Clay looked at Cougar and sighed, before walking across and pulling out the chair opposite and sitting down. "What's going on, Cougar?"

He didn't get an answer beyond the downward cast of Carlos' eyes. Roque roughly pulled out another chair and sat down alongside. They sat in awkward silence until Roque let out a grunt of frustration and began to talk "So apparently someone didn't notice that Jensen was gay." Clay nodded his understanding without lifting his gaze from Carlos. "Someone also seems to think he has upset Jensen although, in honesty, I didn't quite get the how of that . . ." Roque paused as if expecting Carlos to explain.

Apart from the white knuckled clench of his fists, Carlos made no indication that he was taking any notice of what was going on at all. Roque gave another exasperated sigh. "Apparently," the sarcasm dripped bitterly from the word. "He also is expecting us to exact some sort of reprisal for whatever the something that he did was. Speaking personally for a moment, as the business with Jake appears to have been more of a misunderstanding from what I can tell, I'm not currently seeing the need for reprisals.

He growled impatiently at Carlos' continued silence. Carlos flinched again. "I'm not going to fucking have this! I get it, Carlos, your last team was fucked up. We're not!"

Clay raised his eyebrows as if he could argue the point but in truth **he** understood what Roque was trying to say, even if he didn't think it was the most reassuring way to try and convey that to Carlos.

"Cougar," Clay began. "I'm not sure what happened between you and Jensen, but he's under the impression he upset you and he didn't know how to fix it." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Roque give a frustrated shake of his head, but was glad when his XO didn't say anything. "As an outsider, I'd say that somewhere along the line the two of you have had a misunderstanding and jumped to some conclusions about each other that aren't in fact the case. I don't think either of you has intended to actually offend the other and that in actual fact the two of you can be fine."

Clay decided to go carefully with his next topic, hoping to have his own thought about Cougar confirmed without having to directly ask. "Cougar, on this team we don't have an issue with Jensen being gay. It has nothing to do with how good a soldier, a tech or a friend he is to the people here. We are hoping that you won't have an issue with it either."

"I don't have a problem with it," Carlos admitted, his voice soft but anxious. "I'm sorry if you thought I did," he added, looking at Roque directly for the first time since the conversation began. "I was just surprised." Roque waved the apology away.

"It's never been an issue before, possibly because we all knew where we stood. Jake knew we were straight and we knew he was gay. There was no room for mistaken approaches. Has he said or done something that made you –"

"No! He did nothing. He has been a friend, kind, understanding but nothing more – I . . . I made a mistake . . . I thought . . . I-I had not intended – I didn't – it was me," Carlos fell silent.

Roque and Clay shared a completely bemused look. "What the hell did you do, bro?" Roque asked.

"I touched him."

"What?" Carlos flinched again and it was only a glare from Clay that kept Roque from reacting further.

Pooch came out of Jensen's room at the moment which was enough to break the sudden tension. "I'm making myself scarce," he said, unaware for the moment of what he had interrupted. "Jay's just said goodnight to his niece and now his sister 'wants a little chat with him'. I don't think I need to be in the room for that in case she finds something that I've done wrong. It's like worrying about whether your mom's gonna find out you didn't wash behind your ears with that woman. If I were you, Clay, I'd go out now before she decides she wants to talk to you."

Pooch stopped still and looked at them all. "Oh, er sorry, I didn't realize I was interrupting something."

Roque pushed his chair back suddenly and Carlos flinched again. "I'm **not** going to hit you. What exactly do I need to do to convince you of that? I need coffee or maybe whiskey or . . . something." He strode across the room, vanishing into the kitchen.

Pooch caught the pleading in Clay's eyes and no matter how much he wanted to run as far away as possible, he strolled across the room and sat down beside Carlos. "Hey man. It's gonna be okay, not sure what's going through your mind right now, but you know there's a good reason why we're all together here. We're the Losers and we're completely and utterly fucked up." Pooch ignored Clay's glare and continued, "but together we can take on the world."

"You're a good team," Carlos said quietly.

"Yeah we are and you're going to see how we can be a great team after this next job when we've got an ace sniper to boot." He rested a hand on Carlos' arm and said, "Man, you're one of us. Just trust us with this." Carlos looked round at him reluctantly and Pooch grinned broadly.

* * *

><p>Jensen watched as his niece vanished out of the room to get ready for bed and his sister settled herself into the now vacated seat. He flushed red under her scrutiny. Miles of distance did nothing to ease the forthcoming massacre. "Well," she said. "What did you do wrong this time? You know Clay is going to reach a point where he won't bail you out of trouble with the brass anymore. You like it where you are, JJ. Why risk losing it for some stupid prank?"<p>

"No pranks. It wasn't like that," he admitted.

"So . . . what did you do this time?" Jensen shrugged and she frowned in response, "Don't give me that crap, JJ! You're not a kid. If you don't want to be with the team –"

"It's not like that – I didn't do it on purpose and it wasn't the brass anyway." He paused, lifting one thumb to his mouth as if to bite at the nail. Muttering softer, he said, "I wish I was normal. I wish I didn't get everything so fucked up all the time."

"Jay, what's happened?" Her tone was much softer, the love and concern clear in both her facial expression and her words. "Talk to me and maybe we can figure it out."

"I told you about Carlos –"

"Your new room-mate, the sniper. Yeah, you told me about him and how wonderful he was and how Clay is doing all the paperwork to get him assigned to the team."

"He doesn't like me and I don't know what I did wrong but I didn't mean to do anything." Jensen sighed, then began to explain, "I was working on some stuff for Clay on my laptop. You know how it is, I was kind of . . ." His voice trailed off as if he wasn't sure what to say.

"Focused, JJ? Engrossed? Totally unaware of the imminent nuclear explosion in the coffee cup next to you?" she teased gently.

He smiled fondly, "Yeah, guess it was something like that. He came in to get me. I guess he probably called my name or something but I didn't notice so instead he touched my arm and I jumped. It was a surprise, I wasn't expecting it. It's not that I was afraid or anything."

She laughed at him, "JJ, you never get any better. I know exactly what you're like and I can imagine how many times he'd tried to get through to you before he did that."

"He leaped away from me, like his hand was burnt and he shouldn't have been touching me and now he won't talk to me or sit by me and I don't know what I did wrong. I didn't jump on purpose and it was just 'cause it was a surprise, it wasn't anything to do with it being him. Do you think it's because I'm gay?"

"It's a bit late if it is." Jensen saw her lean closer to the camera and he reached out his fingers as if to touch her. "Sweetheart, we love you and you know if he has got a problem with you being gay, it's his problem, not yours. If it's going to be difficult, maybe Pooch would come and share with you and the new guy could have a room on his own. JJ, we love you, wish you could come home for a while. We miss you loads. I'm going to have to go soon, but call me again. I'm here for you always."

"I wanted to be his friend," Jensen said sadly.

"Don't give up, JJ. Maybe – maybe he'll come round and see you for the good person you are."

"Like you say, I'm going to have to go too. I'm pretty sure Clay hasn't finished with me yet. I'm sorry about earlier. I love you both." As his sister signed off, Jensen slowly began to log out and turn his own computer off, every movement reluctant, drawing out the inevitable need to face the rest of the team and know that they all knew he'd let them down again.

* * *

><p>The door opened slowly from Jensen's room and Clay knew it was taking all of Jensen's nerve to actually come out and join them. It made him want to smile at the same time as kick someone for making it so difficult for the kid. Jensen didn't think twice about death defying feats of stupidity to save other people on missions, but facing people to talk when he was expecting the worst was hard on him.<p>

"Hey Jake," he greeted as Jensen appeared, pale and unsmiling. "Come and join us." Clay kicked one of the chairs a little further away from the table to give Jensen room to sit down. Jensen crossed over and rested his hands on the back of the chair nervously as if still expecting someone to do something. It made Clay want to let out a Roque-type growl. Jensen had stopped all this, he'd been with them long enough to know that this wasn't how the Losers worked.

Jensen started to sit down and Clay turned to look over his shoulder at the kitchen and called, "Roque, while you're up you can make everyone coffee."

There was a growled imprecation from the direction of the kitchen, just ahead of the sound of water running and the coffee machine being filled. Clay didn't even need to turn round to reach out and snatch Jensen's arm, pulling him down into his seat as he started to mutter about going to help Roque. He hit his seat with a thud and fell silent, eyes flitting from person to person and then down to his fingers, then back up again, never stopping long on any one of them.

Clay and Pooch both took deep breaths at the same time as if expecting to be the one to have to start the upcoming conversation, only to be beaten to the post by both Jensen and Carlos looking at each other and saying, "I'm sorry –" then falling silent in shock at the other's words.

"Why-?" they both started, cutting off again. This time Jensen seemed almost to shrink in on himself as if he believed that somehow he was making matters worse. By comparison, Carlos seemed to gain strength. His posture straightened and he leaned forward looking more intently at Jensen.

Carlos suddenly seemed to come to a decision and began to speak, "Jensen – Jay. I'm sorry if I did something wrong. It was me – my fault."

"No, it wasn't," Jensen whispered. "I did something wrong to you and I'm sorry, I don't know what I did, but I never meant to upset you, to risk not being your friend. I'm not good at stuff like that. They'll tell you that," he waved his hand at Clay and Pooch. "They're the only ones who'll put up with me. I'm always getting stuff wrong."

Carlos' eyes softened; he wanted to reach out and comfort Jensen, but instead watched with mixed emotions as Pooch did it. "Jay, you're not so bad," Pooch reassured, one hand resting on Jensen's shoulder. "Just 'cause we had a bunch of asshole snipers before Carlos doesn't make it your fault."

"But he's a good one," Jensen replied. "He's a good one and he'll leave because I messed up again."

"Nobody's leaving anywhere," Clay said bluntly. "Cougar's staying. I've only just finished the paperwork, like hell, I'm letting him get away now! Right, the two of you listen carefully, 'cause I'm not going through this again." He took a deep breath and started to speak, "Jensen is gay, Cougar knows this and now none of us have a problem with it. Right, Jensen, got that?"

He started again, "Cougar, Jensen's mouth runs away with him sometimes. It is okay to tell him he's out of line and being an asshole or failing that just to shut up – either works most of the time. While we're on the subject of Jensen's mouth –"

"I'm gay," Carlos said abruptly, cutting off Clay's next words and drawing surprised looks from both Pooch and Jensen and a crash of cups falling to the floor from Roque who was just coming back in to the room with the coffee.

"Shit! Fuck!" Roque looked down at the mess at his feet and the splatter of coffee up his pants legs.

"Yes! I knew it!" Clay crowed with delight, before suddenly reining himself in with a swift apology and, "I'm sorry that was a little inappropriate but," he turned to Roque and said almost gleefully, "I told you and you didn't believe me!"

"Fuck, we're all doomed when Clay's the one with the best gaydar!" Pooch muttered. Clay glared at Pooch as if offended, but just got a sardonically raised eyebrow in return. "So there's one for the books, two gay team-mates. I guess now we don't need to worry so much when we let Jensen out to the gay clubs on his own, we can send Carlos in after him to make sure he doesn't do anything **really** stupid as opposed to just Jensen stupid."

Jensen was watching Carlos throughout the exchange trying to work out what the other man might be thinking. Pooch clipped him round the back of the head and said, "Thinking too hard, bro. I can tell. Steam's coming out of your ears; if you're not careful, something important might catch fire!"

Jensen turned his gaze from Carlos and glared at Pooch who was smiling broadly. "Are we fixed yet? I still have duct tape," Pooch added, slapping a roll of duct tape down on the center of the table by way of proving his point.

Carlos gave a small smile in response. Jensen sighed, then said, "I still –" only to be cut off by a glare from Clay.

"'kay Jay. How about we explain how it works to Carlos?" Pooch pulled across a piece of paper and pen left over from their earlier mission discussions. "Right, here we go," he said starting to draw. "Carlos, this is Jensen's head, filled with . . ." He paused for a moment as he drew further lines on the page. "Jensen's brain, which is bigger than most it seems. Jensen's brain is full to the brim of 'stuff', not all of it useful or helpful. So Jensen's brain kinda works like this. . ." He carried on drawing as he talked, Carlos leaning in fascinated, while Roque barely concealed a laugh and Jensen seemed to be trying to figure out where exactly Pooch was heading with his explanation.

"This big old area here is full of military tactics and information, mission details, maps, you name it – useful stuff for when we're out in the field. We all like this area. Then we have this area here, just an average sized bit of his brain, filled with food related information and that covers everything from best restaurants in an area we've been in to what you can find to eat in the middle of a jungle and if pushed he could probably tell you how far it is to the nearest pizza joint." Pooch smiled at his friend and got a shy half smile from Jensen in return.

Some more lines were drawn and Pooch began to talk again, "Hacking information goes in this one – that's why it's pretty big. Internet trivia in this one, Little League soccer stats are stored in this one here, along with any other dates he needs to remember for his niece. I've a sneaking suspicion he's already worked out when her prom will be! Comic book heroes are stored here right next door to random science fiction trivia. There's a whole bunch of useless shit in this one, that no one can figure out. Now at this point you notice there is a small little area buried in the middle as if it's been abandoned. It's not as small as Jensen seems to think it is but it does fight the odds to get its information out through all these big guns that are threatening to swamp it. Tucked away in there are Jensen's social skills, that means that sometimes Jensen doesn't know when to shut up or when to keep quiet but it is connected directly with his heart and so we know that whatever does come out is always done with the very best of intentions, no matter how fucked up the consequences might be." Pooch ruffled Jensen's hair as he threw the pen on the table, then looked at Carlos and added, "If you keep all of that in mind, you'll be a lot nearer understanding Jensen."

Roque leaned over the table and looked at the picture with a "huh!" of curiosity, then a "hmmm!" A few minutes passed before he suddenly said, "Where's the Jensen's just being an idiot part?"

"I'm never **just** being an idiot!" Jensen said defensively.

"You mean you tactically intend to behave like a dumbass?" Roque asked.

"No, I tactically intend to find out what it takes to piss you off!" came the reply, which had Clay raising an eyebrow and Pooch and Carlos laughing.

"So no duct tape needed now?" Pooch added.

"No duct tape," both Jensen and Carlos agreed.

* * *

><p>Two missions in and the team was comfortable together, everything was working well and Clay knew he'd done the right thing in bringing Cougar into the team. He still had some concerns about the sniper's welfare but was beginning to think that it was nothing that they couldn't overcome with time.<p>

Carlos meanwhile was still going by the name Carlos, although he never ignored the name Cougar when Clay used it. He and Jensen had settled into a friendship that did indeed see the two of them occasionally hit the gay bars together. With Jensen the trips had always been infrequent and he'd never brought anyone back with him, although he'd occasionally stayed away for a night or two when he'd found someone he liked. Clay had always felt it better not to ask or try to find out whether it was the same someone each time or whether he always found someone new. Now though they both always returned and Clay figured that that was pretty likely to be Cougar's influence.

Preparations were underway for their third mission and Clay was pleased to see that Jensen still responded to Cougar's instance that it was time to stop and pack up with far more grace than he ever really found for anyone else interrupting him. Things were good. No, things were great and Clay figured this was the team he was supposed to have.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Clay really wanted to hit someone, like big time whaling on someone. He didn't have anyone particular in mind, although the asshole who gave them all the crap information before they started the mission would be prime choice in the interim. It wasn't his fault they were in this mess, but the main reason for that was Jensen was far better at tracking down the information they actually needed (and making sure it was accurate).

Unfortunately, accuracy of information and knowing how many security guards were on site did not negate the fact that a good plan involved avoiding them, something that was always far easier said than done in Clay's experience.

That was how he found himself with two injured teammates and one who was just about to have a major meltdown if he hadn't started already. Roque and Jensen were not seriously hurt, thank heavens. Roque had caught a glancing shot across his side. It was probably going to need stitches, but it was shallow enough that it was infection rather than internal injury that was the cause for concern.

Jensen's was a through and through to the top of his arm. The way he was rambling on about all and nothing, Clay could again be fairly certain it was not life threatening. Cougar was more of a worry.

Clay could almost smile at the way Jensen was carrying on, rambling nonsense spewing non-stop from his mouth as he gradually slid closer and closer along the bench seat to Cougar. Cougar who claimed everything was fine and he wasn't injured and then promptly shut down again, like he'd done while they were out there.

The sniper had been so damaged by the past, Clay was beginning to wonder now if he could ever really learn to function again. Cougar, like Pooch and Clay had been outside the building, listening in as Jensen and Roque were caught by the guards inside, hearing the gunfire and the sounds of their own teammates being hurt. Cougar had been in the prime spot to see as they'd been brought out with two guards holding each and another guard had a gun pressed to Jensen's head.

They hadn't been in daylight long enough to draw breath according to Jensen before Cougar had taken that particular guard out with a headshot. Seconds later and all of the guards were down, dead, and Roque and Jensen were running for the exit.

They'd made it to the transport and Pooch had floored the gas to head for the pick up for Cougar . . . and that was when it became clear that something was really wrong. There was no sign of Cougar on the ground and Clay couldn't raise him on the comms.

Jensen had been out of the truck before anyone could stop him and heading for Cougar's perch. To watch him, he didn't climb like Cougar, Clay realized, but there was no damn way he wasn't going to get to his objective. Cougar was nimble, agile and seemed like he was made for the height. He'd leap and bound like it was nothing to cross the open space, every movement natural. Jensen didn't have the same gracefulness to his moves, not that it was going to hinder him in any way. The grace and nimbleness he lacked, he more than made up for in muscle power and sheer stubborn determination to get to his teammate.

Clay realized he'd never actually know what state Jensen found Cougar in, but he would never cease to be grateful that his tech had such a big heart. There'd been nothing more than a "Shit, Carlos!" before both of their comms had clicked off and then a few minutes of silence until they'd been back in contact and on the move to rejoin the team.

Once they'd made it back down, Cougar had been forcing Jensen into the truck. He'd climbed in quickly behind and then squeezed himself tight into the corner, answered enough questions to establish that he hadn't been injured and then he'd shut down. Nothing anyone said seemed to penetrate his awareness. He was drawn up small, every muscle tense.

Jensen had slid down the bench seat until he was right next to Carlos, a warm solid presence against his side. All the available space and Jensen was pressed against his side, solid and alive. He was still rambling something about weather fronts and anti-cyclones and the likelihood of rain; nothing whatsoever to do with where they were and what had happened. It didn't seem to be having any effect on Carlos, but Jensen just kept right on, barely pausing for breath.

They pulled up at the safe house about an hour later and Clay started to unload the truck, quickly joined by Roque and Pooch. He cast uneasy eyes at Jensen and Carlos; Carlos hadn't reacted at all, but Jensen was giving what Clay assumed was supposed to be a reassuring grin as he said, "We'll be in shortly. Just give us a few minutes."

* * *

><p>It took nearly twenty minutes before they appeared in the door, Jensen pulling Carlos by the sleeve behind him and they walked quietly through to their room. It was a surprise when five minutes later, Carlos appeared at the door, heading for the kitchen and then the bathroom determinedly. Jensen leaned on the door frame watching him, grin still firmly in place, but eyes reflecting the real emotion as he watched his friend's torment. "We might need Roque later, but we'll see how it goes," he said quietly before Carlos could reappear.<p>

When Carlos came back carrying as many of the first aid supplies as he could, Clay understood and was relieved when Roque said gruffly, "Just let me know. I'm gonna be here . . . resting and Jensen?" He paused until Jensen's eyes flicked to him for a moment, "You both did good today."

Jensen nodded, his smile tight and as Carlos reached him, he let him into the room and closed the door behind them both.

* * *

><p>With the door closed behind them, Jensen watched as Carlos circled the room like a cat prowling. He sighed and moved across to sit on his bed, shedding his shirt as he went. "Can you check my arm for me?" he asked quietly, not surprised when Carlos flinched as if the noise had broken his train of thought. The sniper looked at him and nodded, crossing swiftly to his side and sitting down.<p>

Carlos gently removed the quick dressing that Clay had applied earlier and carefully cleaned the wound again. Every touch was careful, almost tender as if he was afraid of causing any more pain. Once he seemed sure the wound was clean, he threaded a needle and applied a couple of stitches to each side of the injury. He didn't say a word as he worked, just diligently focused on the task before him.

Jensen watched, wishing he knew what to say to take away the hurt in Carlos' eyes, but surprised at the tenderness in his touch. When the final stitch was placed and Carlos covered over the wound with a fresh dressing, Jensen felt at a loss. He took hold of his friend's hand and placed it over his own heart. Carlos left it there, unmoving and Jensen said, "See, still beating, still alive. Thanks to you."

Carlos shook his head. Jensen could see how he was trying to control the emotions welling inside as he started to turn away. "No!" Jensen was insistent, pulling back on his arm and keeping him in his place. "We're still alive, we're still here. Don't do this to me, don't shut me out. I need to know you've got my back. I need to know you're okay - you're my team. This team works, Carlos, it works with you in it. Please don't do this."

Carlos shuddered.

"Tell me – tell me what you're thinking," Jensen said.

Carlos' head dropped and he bit his lip.

"It's okay, you know. We're not leaving you," Jensen said softly. "We're a team."

"You can't say that," Carlos said. "They didn't intend to die before but they did. They died and they left . . . me."

Jensen slipped an arm around his shoulder and pulled him closer, letting Carlos rest his forehead against his shoulder and just draw in the strength that he needed his teammate to have. "It's going to be okay," he reassured again.

* * *

><p>Clay watched as over the next few days Cougar trailed Jensen everywhere like a particularly forlorn puppy. He didn't think they were out of the woods yet, actually thought that perhaps now they were back home, he should think about ordering Cougar to talk to a doctor about everything, because this might be better than before, but it sure as hell wasn't right.<p>

At least Cougar was eating and talking of sorts. But the nightmares . . . hell, the nightmares were keeping them all awake. It was no wonder that both Cougar and Jensen were walking round with bags beneath their eyes from lack of sleep. Clay would contemplate drugging them both to get some decent sleep, but it didn't take a genius to know that no matter how tired it left them Cougar needed to be able to break free from the dreams and not be trapped in it courtesy of some randomly prescribed sedative.

At least he was talking again. Well, kind of anyway. He'd answer questions, in as few words as possible and he was reacting to the people around him. Clay was sure he'd seen the glimmer of a smile as Roque and Jensen had compared injuries to decide whether he or Cougar provided the best aftercare.

Jensen was hyper, lack of sleep, too much sugar because there was no way he wasn't going to be awake and alert and cheery at any time that Cougar needed him. He was even more tactile than usual, Clay had noticed, a pat to Cougar's shoulder as he passed, a touch to his arm when they were watching a film or a game on TV as if to remind Cougar that he was there and alive, even a hand on his back when Jensen had made a decision for them both that he wasn't sure Cougar was going to like – as if it was there for reassurance that he knew best.

Jensen might be socially inept at times, but when he stopped thinking of what he was doing and started thinking solely about what someone else needed, Clay had never known anybody better to have around. The problem with it all was the fact that Jensen was just as tired, just as burdened now because he wouldn't let Cougar out of his sight. He was burning himself out taking care of Cougar 24/7, trying to be his full on sunny self all the time. Jensen's downtimes might be shorter than anyone else's but under normal circumstances, Clay knew, he slept like he was dead when they were not on missions, when all was right and safe in his world, but there was no time for recharging now. He was guarding Cougar from himself and the world, awake and asleep and the toll was mounting.

* * *

><p>Jensen lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting. He was tired, but he couldn't risk falling asleep now; Carlos would wake soon, he was sure of it. He'd do anything he could to take away his friend's pain, but he was out of ideas. Clay had suggested that Carlos go to see someone at the medical center on post or even someone in town if Carlos thought he'd prefer that, but so far Carlos had refused.<p>

Jensen heard a sound from the other bed and opened his eyes again where they'd drifted shut. He wanted to do something that helped. This was so much bigger and more real than the nightmares he'd held his niece through, backed by fact rather than imagination.

"No!" the word was little more than a gasped sob from the other bed. "Jake!"

Jensen was out of his bed and across the room shaking Carlos awake before the images could get any worse. Those words could never bode well. He began to talk as soon as he was there, words soothing. "Carlos, Carlos, we're safe, we're here." Jensen wanted to keep this nightmare quiet, just between the two of them. It was affecting the whole team, the lack of sleep, the knowledge that one of their own was going through something that not one of them could really help with. This was beyond Clay's chain of command, nothing that could be carved out with one of Roque's knives or fixed back together with Pooch's duct tape.

Jensen wished it were as simple to solve as a miswritten line of code or a forgotten password. He slid into the bed with Carlos, letting him shift and turn until he settled in his arms, shivering, cheeks damp with tears, face buried into Jensen's neck. He stroked a hand down Carlos' back, murmuring softly about safety, home, family. Carlos relaxed a little and Jensen tilted his head and pressed a fond kiss to the top of his friend's head, just as he would with his niece.

Realizing what he'd done, he felt the burn of embarrassment to his cheeks and hoped that Carlos wouldn't have noticed because seriously that one was going to be hard to explain away. He closed his own eyes and tried to fall asleep, but his mind was racing with what ifs.

Opening his eyes again a few moments later when his thoughts became too loud and he needed to distract himself from their path, he caught the glint of light off Carlos' eyes, open and watching him. The thought 'Oh shit!' went through his mind, just ahead of Carlos shifting his weight and moving upward to place a gentle kiss just to the side of his mouth. All it would take, Jensen knew, was for him to tilt his head a fraction and it would be a real kiss, one that meant something more, one that couldn't be just ignored.

His eyes watched Carlos warily, not sure what to do. Fuck, they were in bed together and he'd just planted one on a friend who was in an emotionally fragile state. There was no way Carlos knew what he was doing, no way Clay wouldn't know that Jensen was some huge perv who'd been lusting after his very attractive teammate and had then jumped him when he was in a vulnerable state after a nightmare.

It wouldn't be the first time Roque had threatened to take a knife and chop his junk off for some minor misdemeanor but this time, this one, wasn't minor, it was freakin' huge and ginormous and Jensen was in truth the biggest asshole on the planet and he deserved to –

His train of thought was cut off abruptly when Carlos placed another kiss directly on his lips. His eyes widened in shock and as Carlos withdrew he blurted out, "You don't have to do that, I'm not really a perv, I just like you a lot, a whole lot, lot more than I'm supposed to but you don't have to like me back because of any of that and I promise I'll keep my hands to myself from now on and my lips you know. Shit, don't kill me, please."

Carlos smiled, "No killing . . . just this." He leaned up and pressed another kiss to Jensen's mouth, cutting off the words. "I want you."

"You want me to what? I can go make a sandwich if you want? Or soda, I'll fetch a soda. You want a soda?" Jensen knew he was babbling but seriously, he'd just dug a hole the size of the Grand Canyon and instead of getting in himself in his usual manner, this time he'd thrown Carlos down and then dived in on top – he was majorly fucked now!

Carlos pulled back, expression dark and sullen. "No, I don't want a soda." He pulled away, turning his back and putting as much distance as he could between the two of them on the single bed. "Go. Go back to your own bed, Corporal Jensen."

Jensen froze. "I-" He swallowed anxiously. "Carlos –" He shifted, moving to the edge of the bed as if to stand up. "I'm a fuck up, Carlos. I don't know what to do."

"You meant nothing by it, friendship. I am sorry I thought it meant more," Carlos said without turning round. "You are forgiven for you did nothing wrong. It is your choice whether I can be forgiven also."

Jensen reached for Carlos' shoulder. Softly, he whispered, "It didn't mean more, but . . . but I wanted it to."

"You are under no obligation to say that," Carlos replied stiffly.

Jensen pulled on his shoulder, turning him enough that he could lean in and place a gentle kiss on Carlos' lips. "No obligation," he murmured when he finally drew back again, eyes seeking Carlos' for reassurance. "You should probably know, I really suck at relationships . . . or at least I figure I do, there's never been a relationship as such . . . no one else would put up with me, but I guess you already know how much of a screw up I am."

"No screw up. Mine," Carlos leaned in first this time. "I'm not letting you go and . . ." The words were choked off and as he pulled back he also turned away, one hand pushing at Jensen to push him further. "I – I can't do this."

"Why?" Jensen asked, moving closer. "Why not? I want it, you want it – I figure even we've managed to work that bit out."

"They died, Jake, they died and if – if –"

"They died, Cougar," Jensen breathed the name against his cheek softly, almost hesitantly, "but you didn't and they'd want you to live again and you haven't been doing that. Now you can and I'll be here with you."

Carlos shivered as he said the name and Jensen's arms pulled him tighter. "We'll make it work, Cougar," he pressed closer still. "We can make this work together."

"I can't – I can't lose you," Carlos choked out, finally giving into Jensen's embrace and clutching at him.

"I promise, I'm going to do everything I can to stay alive and with you. Everything."

* * *

><p>Jensen had lain awake for hours, holding Carlos and thinking, while the other man slept peaceful and relaxed in his arms. He'd eventually drifted into a light doze about four in the morning and he was awake again with the first light.<p>

Jensen wasn't really sure where they were going to stand now in the growing light of day. He had no experience to fall back on. Carlos, at least, had slept the rest of the night peacefully, which was a good thing he reminded himself. Carlos . . . Cougar . . . Cougs . . . he cut off the line of thought guiltily. He had no right to think like that about his teammate. Whatever words or . . . kisses . . . had been shared in the darkest hours of the night meant nothing in daylight, nothing when other people were awake. He had no right to hold Carlos to anything.

He lay still pondering the wisdom of trying to extricate himself from under Carlos to go and talk to Pooch, to see if he could offer any advice, but something kept him still and quiet. The more he thought about it the less sure he was of his reasoning; was it the chance to treasure this moment as the one of a kind it would be as Carlos was likely to wake up and have come to his senses. In Jensen's experience, most men did.

Then again, he rationalized it could also be that the longer he lay still and quiet, the longer Carlos stayed asleep which was also a good thing for Carlos' health. It would also, importantly, delay the inevitable 'dealing with Jensen's latest fuck-up' scenario that would no doubt follow the revelations of those early hours.

He sighed quietly and wished things could be different, wished the things that Carlos had said the previous night could have been real, true. It was a sad fact of his life that most people disliked him, some tolerated him and on the rare occasions when he was really lucky they occasionally almost liked him, like the team did. Or had, before this. Jensen had always figured he was lucky to have his sister and niece to love him. After all, they could have turned their back on him once they were settled and on their feet in New Hampshire. But the fact that his sister still seemed to not only love him, but want to involve him in so much of his niece's life meant the world to him. And his niece, the little angel that she was, seemed in her innocence and naiveté to actually love him unconditionally.

"Jay." The word was soft, breathed against his own skin and Jensen was convinced his heart had stopped beating and he was about to die.

"Breathe," Carlos said softly and Jensen dragged in a breath as if he'd been suffocating before the permission to breathe again. Carlos' thumb swept back and forth across his bicep in a motion that Jensen figured was probably supposed to be soothing, but right now, it only served to ratchet up his nerves even further.

"Good morning!" Jensen wanted to cringe. Even he could hear the panic and stress in his voice. What the hell was the worst Carlos would do? It wasn't like he was Roque with his knives. Then again, Carlos was the best sniper Jensen had ever known. He wouldn't even need to get close to take him out. Jensen was a walking dead man. Jensen could start counting the days now or maybe just hours . . . or minutes . . . Should he get up and call his sister and niece to say goodbye.

Carlos pressed a kiss to the side of Jensen's neck where he still lay and Jensen said, "Good morning!" again, just as panicked as the first time. Then realizing what he'd said, he followed it up with an "Oh fuck!"

"Tranquilo, Jay, cálmate," Carlos soothed.

"Did you know if you have 3 quarters, 4 dimes, and 4 pennies, you have $1.19. You also have the largest amount of money in coins without being able to make change for a dollar?" Jensen blurted out suddenly.

"No, I didn't," Carlos acknowledged quietly.

"Oh. Right. Good, I guess. 'Cause now you do." He fell quiet again, lying still and stiff, conscious of Carlos' weight over his arm, Carlos' heat against his side, the presence of Carlos' head on his shoulder and Carlos' thumb still tracing patterns back and forth over his bicep.

Carlos shifted his weight away from Jensen and Jensen shivered. Carlos' eyes were soft as they watched as his hand trailed from Jensen's bicep to rest over his heart. He gave Jensen a look as if he understood, actually really understood or could see inside or something and Jensen shivered again. "I'm still here," Carlos said softly. "I'm not going anywhere. Are you?"

Jensen looked at him, startled, and shook his head abruptly.

"Good," Carlos smiled gently.

"The two stone lions in front of the New York Public Library are called Patience and Fortitude because that's what the mayor thought –" Jensen's words were cut short as Carlos leaned over and kissed him.

Jensen forgot all about mayors and public libraries and found himself overwhelmed with sensation. He leaned up into the kiss, following Carlos, arm coming up to hold him close. This . . . this he could do, this he could make good. There was a nagging voice at the back of his head that said it was just after that he would mess up but he quelled it by pressing forward, the kiss more desperate, more intense, more determined.

Carlos' hand settled on Jensen's cheek, thumb tracing back and forth gently as if to calm him down. Jensen drew back, eyes down, cheeks stained with both embarrassment and arousal. "Sssh," Carlos hushed as he drew back, tilting his head to press a kiss to Jensen's forehead."No voy a dejarte, nunca." ( _I'm not going to leave you, not ever. )_

"Really?" Jensen asked.

"I won't leave you. You don't leave me?"

"Nunca," Jensen said softly, meeting Carlos' eyes and smiling, before kissing him again, gently. Jensen saw Carlos' eyes become darker, more intent, felt as he was pushed back down onto the bed and Carlos moved over him, his hands dropping from Jensen's face to the bottom of his t-shirt which he pulled upward to reveal the tight muscles below. Jensen pulled Carlos back towards him, the two of them kissing again, before Carlos resumed his intention of getting Jensen's t-shirt off.

His chest exposed, Carlos watching him, an almost predatory gleam to his gaze, Jensen bit his lip, nervous again until Carlos leaned back in to press a kiss over his heart. "So full of love," he murmured lifting his head to meet Jensen's eyes. "So good and now mine."

Jensen let his own fingers tangle in the bottom of Carlos' t-shirt pulling it up. "Yours. . . Yes!" he asserted a moment later.

* * *

><p>When Carlos woke, he shifted his position slightly so that he could look at his . . . lover . . . his Jake. Jensen was still sleeping, he looked so tired, so pale. It was only this last night that Carlos had begun to realize that his issues were only half the problem; Jensen had plenty of his own to deal with as well.<p>

He considered their future for a few moments, wondering what to do now. He could happily lie here, watching Jake but in reality he knew he needed to think about how they were going to deal with this. Clay liked to have his team all in one place, but this was different. The first thing he would need to do was talk to Clay, get himself transferred out of the team, find somewhere else to stay. There was only so much he could expect Clay to turn a blind eye to. He sighed, it would mean losing this but if it meant he got to have something with Jake it would be worth it.

He slipped down the bed, careful not to disturb Jensen. He grabbed clothes and headed for the shower to clear his head ready for his talk with Clay.

* * *

><p>Clay was alone in the kitchen when Carlos got there. "Cougar, mornin'" Clay greeted gruffly.<p>

"Good morning," Carlos was reminded for a moment of Jensen's greeting as he'd woken earlier and it steeled him ready for what he needed to do now. Deciding not to delay, it was better to have it all dealt with before Jake woke up and to be able to present him with a plan for their future, rather than having it all picked to pieces repeatedly and Jake worrying unnecessarily.

He pulled out a chair at the table and sat down opposite Clay. Clay looked up, an expression of concern on his face. "Not getting coffee?" he asked.

"I need to talk to you," Carlos began. Clay looked surprised but waved him on. "Jensen and I . . . You don't want to know more but I have said enough on that for you to understand."

Clay nodded, seeming glad that he wasn't going to need to hear more.

"It is serious, or it will be. I understand that this will make things difficult here." Carlos drew a deep breath to continue, "I wish to ask for a transfer, then Jake and I do not put your team in a difficult position. I shall move out also. We will not cause you trouble."

"Will you indeed? Firstly, I'd rather turn a blind eye to you with Jensen than have him going off trying to find someone to treat him right. You stay here and Roque will make sure you do. Secondly, our last sniper shot Jensen in the ass, however, indirectly. So right now, you're telling me that you're happy to transfer out of this team and let someone else have his back who might not do it as well as you. He got shot on the last mission with you watching out for him. He's only here because you're so damn good at your job, but in your infinite wisdom at this time in the morning you have figured out that it would be better to leave him to be watched over by some knucklehead who ain't gonna care about him at all, because believe me, we've had more assholes who'd leave him or for that matter the rest of us to hang if it kept them safe, than you stay with us and do your damn job well."

"But –"

"But you'd take that risk with someone that you're telling me you care about – _really_ care about. Is that really what you want, Cougar? 'Cause if it is, then I figure you should just pack your bag and get the hell out of Jensen's life, hell all of our lives, because he deserves better than that."

Carlos felt the flare of anger, a possessive lurch in the pit of his stomach at the thought of giving up Jensen now. "No!" he snapped.

"So you'll stay then?" Clay pushed his chair back from the table and moved across to make more coffee. "Good, 'cause I hate all the paperwork with transfers."

Carlos sat at the table stunned and silent and wondered just how Clay had managed to manipulate him so easily without giving him a direct order or just plain refusing to do the transfer. He'd made it Carlos' own decision to stay. Clay's back was still to him as he made coffee and Carlos ran a hand down his face trying to gather his thoughts. Moments later, Clay set two cups of coffee before him, sitting down again with his own cup. He seemed to think for a moment before he said, "Look out for Jensen and he'll do the same for you. He'd lay his life on the line for you without a second thought – don't underestimate him."

"Never," Carlos said quietly. "The team –" He left the sentence to hang.

"Won't give a damn," finished Clay. "Unless you hurt him, then things'll be different. You better take that coffee to him or he'll wake up and think he's done something wrong."

"How- How do you know that?"

Clay snorted a half laugh round his cup. "You think I don't know my team, Cougar?"

"It's not . . . it's not about how well he does his job though," Carlos said.

"Sure it is. Anyway, knowing my team is about knowing more than what they're good at on a mission. If Jensen is down, he can't do his job as well as if all is rosy in his little world. And trust me, when Jake's down he's good at his job, but when things are going well, I've certainly never worked with a better tech. He's a good kid, I like him and I want to keep him happy."

"He's a good man," Carlos agreed, reaching for the two cups and beginning to stand up.

"Cougar –" Clay stopped until Carlos turned round. "Same goes for you. And one more thing . . . I still think perhaps that it's time you talked to someone who can help with everything that happened, help you put it . . ." Clay paused as if not sure how to word what he wanted to say. "Cougar, the past is the past and however much we might want to change what happened, still have those people with us, sometimes we can't do that. We don't forget, not if we're good men and we don't care less but we have to find some way of allowing ourselves to move forward and keep living. It's time for you to do that . . . for Jake's sake."

* * *

><p>Carlos held both cups in one hand as he quietly opened the door. Jake was sitting on the edge of the bed, head down resting in his hands, a picture of dejection. Carlos was reminded again of the insecurities of the night before and early that morning, reminded brutally that he wasn't the only one to have been hurt in the past.<p>

"Jake," he said softly, "I brought you coffee." Jake looked up, relief washing over his face and lighting up into joy. It wasn't enough to mask how tired Jake really was: too many nights watching over Carlos' nightmares. Carlos pushed down the guilt that threatened to rise again and instead thought for a moment of Clay's instructions to go and see someone. He still wasn't happy with the idea, but for Jake's sake at least, he needed to get a handle on the situation.

Jake beamed now though and Carlos knew he needed to learn more about him, because this sudden change made him starkly aware of how superficial the layer was, how much deeper feelings Jake had learned to hide away.

He crossed the room and sat down beside Jake, holding out one of the cups and as Jake moved to take it, he leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. It was almost hard to believe how much brighter still Jake's grin became. If that was all it took to begin to make him feel valued, Carlos figured he'd be happy to oblige whenever he could.

* * *

><p>Two successful missions down, several more weeks and no injuries, things seemed to be looking up for the team. Not that Clay was counting eggs in baskets, before or after hatching of course. That was never a wise thing to do.<p>

Jensen and Cougar were doing well. After all the struggle to get Cougar to accept the need for a psychiatrist, there was now a wait of another month before an appointment was available. Things seemed to be improving despite that though. Nights were quieter and the bags below both men's eyes were decreasing. Clay didn't ask what went on after the door was closed, but during the daytime the two men were discreet, friendly but nothing that could possibly make anyone else uncomfortable. If anything Jensen's tactile nature came out more in relation to the rest of the team than Cougar.

Jensen seemed calmer as well, less as if he had something to prove and more as if he didn't want to change anything. There was a slight nervousness as if he was afraid of rocking the boat and changing the status quo in the team.

Yup, all things told, Clay was pretty pleased with how things were panning out.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

The team were kicking back in a bar, relaxed. Jake was on form, smiling and making them all laugh with his nonsense. Every one of them was having a good time. Glasses empty again and Jensen stood up to go to the restroom with promises to fetch a fresh round before he returned.

With the tech gone, the conversation was quieter but no less relaxed and enjoyable, conversation drifting from topic to topic easily. It took a while to realize that Jake hadn't returned.

Carlos looked up, eyes scanning the bar warily for his partner. Jake wasn't to be seen at first glance, then he caught a glimpse of him at the far end of the bar. Carlos recognized the signs of trouble when he saw them; not that Jensen often went looking for it, but somehow he did seem to attract it at times.

He saw the man in front of Jake move suddenly, arms coming up as if pushing Jake and Jake seemed to take a step back. Carlos had lost all track of the conversation at his own table now as he focused in on Jake. At the moment, he was content to leave Jake to sort it himself, it wasn't like he was a damsel in distress and with his training, there weren't many who could take him. Just then a push from a second man sent Jake sideways and put the first man right up tight in his face and Carlos had had enough. He was on his feet and moving instantly, the rest of the team were unsure what was going on, but were immediately on the alert with his abrupt unannounced movement.

Carlos' eyes didn't leave the far side of the bar as he made his way across, barely aware of the people he was pushing past to get through the crowd. He'd seen Jake's face change from one of mild irritation to actual concern, just ahead of another push and Jake starting to move away to the corridor that led to the restrooms.

Carlos pushed harder through the throng of people, wishing they'd never come out or that they'd gone somewhere quieter instead. Jake was moving quicker now with not just the two men harassing him but another two clearly following threateningly as well. Carlos looked back over his shoulder, saw Roque's eyes tracking his progress through the crowd. As their eyes met, Roque's expression darkened and Carlos saw him interrupt the conversation between Pooch and Clay and with a jerk of his head in Carlos' direction, they were all on their feet and following him; their progress through the crowd quicker due to Roque leading the way.

As he turned back Carlos caught a full view of one of Jake's tormentors and he went cold. Recognizing the XO of the last team he'd been with, he put all attempts at courtesy behind him as he forced his way forwards more quickly.

* * *

><p>Jensen had no idea who the guy was who'd stopped him at the bar, but he recognized the type – a homophobic bigot with enough army training to make the punches hurt. He tried to appease the guy, deflect and divert his attention so as not to cause a scene. The Losers were having a good night and the last thing they wanted was more trouble, unintentional as it may be, brought on by him to ruin the night.<p>

By the time, he found himself being 'coerced' into leaving, Jensen was beginning to feel more than a little concerned. These guys were pretty determined and also with the arrival of number three and then four, he was distinctly outnumbered. He was better than he used to be, Roque had made sure of that, but this . . .

His heart skipped a beat when Number Three said, "The Pretty Pink Princess is really flaunting it and asking for whatever she gets." The door to the ladies' room was kicked open and he found himself being propelled in and as he stumbled, someone, he didn't know which of his pursuers it was, kicked out at the back of his knee.

He reacted furiously. He didn't have to put up with this. He let his body move utilizing the momentum in his turn to come up swinging at one of his attackers. The first punch landed perfectly, breaking the closest man's nose and sending him stumbling backwards into one of his associates. Jensen didn't take the time to gloat or even to see if it had actually downed the man for good, he just turned straight into blocking a punch from another man.

"Jensen – you still fight like a fuckin' pansy!"

Jensen resisted the urge to stop and turn to look at the voice he'd never forget. He'd never told Cougar that he'd served under the same CO, he'd never told him half of what he'd been through, but he'd known exactly what Carlos had been talking about, each time he'd admitted anything.

Jensen followed through on the punch he'd been lining up before McKee had spoken, ignoring what he couldn't deal with until he'd done something more towards overcoming the trivialities. One thing he'd learnt was McKee wouldn't step in until he was ready – no matter how his team mates were faring.

Jensen followed through with the punch and found himself on top of the man, at first grappling for the upper hand and once he'd got it, he started pummeling him until he lost consciousness at which point he swung round and up ready for whoever came next.

It should have been less of a surprise to find himself face to face with McKee, who was now holding a knife. Two of the other soldiers moved in closer and took him by the arms and it was all that Jensen could do to keep standing and hoping that he'd think of a way out of this before things got really nasty.

"You never learn, boy, do you? Real soldiers don't wear pink . . ." McKee waved the knife in front of Jensen's face and Jensen didn't bother answering, just gathered as much saliva as he could before spitting straight in McKee's face.

Just as McKee started forward, the bathroom door banged open, Cougar standing framed in its center, a look of rage on his face. Jensen barely spared a moment to regret that this would bring it all back for his team mate, before turning to thoughts of gratitude that he wasn't quite so outnumbered anymore.

McKee didn't even look back as he said, "Fuck off! We have business to deal with here and you don't want to be involved."

"I'll stay," Cougar said curtly.

McKee stepped back in surprise, looking at him before starting to laugh. "Alvarez! Fuck! What a fucking pair. Don't tell me you know the princess here?"

Cougar stalked forward. Jensen struggled against the two men holding him. McKee and his men's attention were on Cougar, but Jensen knew Cougar was well aware of not only the attackers but also what he was doing. Jensen struggled again, almost but not quite slipping the grip of one of the men holding him. It was enough to move them forward a few steps closer to McKee.

As McKee shifted his weight, readying himself to attack Cougar, Jensen pulled forward, lashing one leg out to hook round McKee's leg and leave him stumbling towards Cougar who was able to punch him with ease, before bringing a knee up into his groin and following through.

Jensen regretted the move for a moment as the pain in his own knee flared bright and he found himself only upright because of the men holding him. He couldn't really regret the action because it meant that Cougar had managed to take down McKee with ease and he knew that would do wonders for ridding Cougar of some of the shadows he carried.

The pain in his knee and his preoccupation with Cougar's welfare was almost enough to distract him completely from the way his own assailants now had him pinned against the wall. He focussed quickly trying to work out either a way free or at least a way to minimize the damage.

He found himself going with just protecting himself as much as he could. His knee couldn't take his weight, so he was stuck not able to move or kick and had to resort to just blocking as much as he could. The appearance of Roque behind one of the men, with a knife at the man's throat was a relief.

"Having fun, Jensen?" Roque asked.

"Oh you know," he snarked back. "I didn't want to take them all out before you got here. I know you haven't had any fun lately."

"What are you doing to my tech?" Roque growled in the man's ear.

The man spluttered a non-reply and Jensen brought an elbow up to hit the man on his other side in the face. With the arrival of Pooch and Clay as well, the fight was over before things could go any further. Clay hauled McKee up by the back of his t-shirt, 'accidentally' knocking his head against the sink on the way. "Care to explain, McKee? I have to say that I'm hoping you didn't like that 'Major' you've been toting round with you for the last few years, because I'm going to make sure that you're busted right back down to Private."

Jensen grinned at Cougar and winked, trying to distract his team-mates from his own injuries long enough that they could all get out of there. They were close enough to post that it didn't take long for the MPs to arrive and Clay stood proud and tall as he detailed how McKee and his team had attacked one of his team and the others had 'merely' intervened. It didn't take long for them to be ready to haul away the remnants of McKee's team, saluting Clay and asking politely if he'd attend post in the morning to iron out the details.

Jensen could see how impressed Cougar was with the respect they were showing Clay and how unequivocal the response was. They hadn't questioned his version of events at all. Jensen leant back against the wall, wiping a hand across his face, surprised when it came away bloody. He tried again, before turning his head to look in the mirror to try and rid himself of the outward sign of injury.

His knee was now a constant throb and he knew he wasn't moving from his current position without help. In fact, he was honest enough to admit to himself that he wasn't going to bounce straight back. He was going to try for the 'all is well', but there was a niggling worry already in his own mind that this was going to put him back on crutches.

Cougs still looked unnerved by everything that had happened when McKee suddenly turned and sneered at him, "Might have known you'd have fitted right in to a group of Losers like this one, Alvarez. Psychos and pansies – just your thing!"

Cougar shot across the room, hand going straight to McKee's neck and spat, "You know nothing. The name is Cougar and nobody messes with my team, least of all, an insect like you!"

Jensen grinned wider and said, "Oh yeah, go Cougs!" Pooch threw his head back and laughed, Roque smirked.

* * *

><p>Clay surveyed his team as the MPs disappeared with McKee and his men. He knew that at last he'd got the team right. Roque, Pooch, Cougar and Jensen – all just what he needed and right for each other.<p>

They might be known on post as The Losers but Clay knew in his heart they were going to kick ass.


	10. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Cougar watched as Jensen bent over to pick up his crutches from where they'd slipped to the floor earlier in the afternoon. Jensen looked beat. He'd not slept well in days worrying about what would happen in the courtroom today. Some of the comments and accusations had made him falter, his confidence waning until eye contact with one of his team had seemed to bolster his courage for a little longer, despite his ashen complexion and the sad resignation in his eyes.

Cougar wanted nothing more than to wrap Jensen in his arms and promise him that it was all behind him. Earlier in the afternoon, he'd been angry at the thought of all the secrets Jensen had been keeping, but eyes on his partner and he knew whatever screwed up reasoning Jensen had been using, he'd been thinking he was protecting Cougar.

Clay had made his way across the military court room and was helping Jensen leave, a show of support and solidarity that the rest of the team would reflect as soon as they could. Roque had been seething in the seat beside Cougar for most of the morning, muttering imprecations under his breath, as Jensen had been interrogated by the defence.

In their hearts, all of the Losers knew that Jensen wasn't to blame for what had happened, but it didn't make it any easier to listen to people slander one of their own and try to make it sound as if he was the one at fault. They'd all taken the stand in turn, but Jensen's case wasn't helped by the fact that the Losers had already been here after Jensen had been injured due to McDonald's incompetence.

Cougar hated what all of this had done to Jensen and just hoped that it would all be over before the end of the day. He followed Roque and Pooch out of the courtroom, ready to join the others. They ate a semblance of lunch, none of them having any appetite but knowing they needed enough fuel to get them through the rest of the day and then they sat quietly waiting to be called back in for the verdict.

Pooch tried to keep spirits high with random comments and plans for celebrations and Roque just came up with new and inventive ways to exact revenge for putting them all through this. Cougar watched Jensen wishing they had enough privacy to give him the real reassurance he looked so in need of.

When they were finally called back in to hear the verdict delivered, Roque and Clay flanked Jensen and Cougar felt his hackles raise. He should be the one by Jensen, he should be the one to offer comfort; he should be . . . Pooch put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. He glared over his shoulder until Pooch leaned in closer to talk privately. "Dude, we're here, we're supporting Jensen. We're his teammates and we've all got his back . . . Clay and Roque are giving everyone a very clear message here, no one messes with their team and Jensen is not fair game. You stand next to him and it's not so clear that they're not taking it ever, it's also opening you both up to other people knowing. You know it's not the right time for that."

Cougar nodded, let his posture relax, shoulders dropping back and accepting his place between Roque and Pooch, wondering if that was another message to people like McKee that he too was claimed by the Losers. It was a reassuring thought that perhaps it might be.

It didn't take long for the verdict and sentencing to be delivered, McKee was being sent to Leavenworth and then dishonorably discharged after serving his sentence. The rest of his team were being dispersed to other teams and demoted back to the lowest ranks. It seemed that the final decision on that had been that McKee's blame was unequivocal, but with the rest of the team it had been less easy to be sure that they hadn't just done it because he'd ordered it and they would have been opening themselves up to the same treatment if they hadn't followed orders.

The Losers weren't happy with that, but knew that they'd have to accept it as the best they could hope for and that hopefully it really had been impressed upon enough of the men that if it happened again they would be the ones facing Leavenworth. They wouldn't be getting any second chances.

Jensen was quiet as they left and headed back to the house. His face hadn't lost any of its tension and it was only when it came to getting out of the car that it became obvious what the real problem was.

"Give me a minute," he whispered hoarsely, after they pulled up and the others were out of the car and he'd made no move.

Clay frowned and then crouched down on the kerb before Jensen and asked, "Jake, did you take the meds from the doc this morning?"

The seconds ticked by before Jensen finally admitted that he hadn't. The disapproval from the rest of the team was immediate but Clay just waved them silent, seeming to understand why Jensen had needed to do that.

"Okay, Jake, we've got this." He took Jensen's crutches away and gave them to Cougar, sending Pooch inside to get the meds ready, then with a quick nod to Roque, they braced themselves one either side of Jensen and lifted him out of the car, carrying him swiftly up to the door and through it to the couch, ignoring his protests.

His knee had been a mess after the attack and he'd ended up needing surgery to fix the damage. Recovery was slower and Cougar suspected even more painful than last time.

The team moved round Jensen, and Cougar watched quietly from the doorway. Pooch brought his meds, which to everyone's relief he took quickly before leaning back and closing his eyes. Roque dropped the TV remote and his laptop on to the seat beside him, but both remained ignored. Clay set a sandwich on the arm of the couch and with a squeeze of Jensen's shoulder told him to eat. He took a few bites, chewing slowly and swallowing before it too lay ignored beside him and he leaned back again and closed his eyes.

The team watched sadly, before Clay ushered them all out and pointed at Cougar just before leaving, waving him in Jensen's direction. Cougar moved across the room, crouching down before Jensen and taking hold of his hands. "Jay," he said softly, watching as Jake's eyes opened and met his. "We should get some rest." He cleared the couch of all the things that had been brought for Jensen, carefully lifted his legs up before climbing behind him and letting Jensen rest on his chest, ear over the steady beat of his heart. There were so many things he wanted to ask, wanted to know, not least why in all the time Jensen had listened to him talk there had been no mention of Jensen serving under McKee as well, but first Jensen needed rest.

It didn't take long for Jensen to fall asleep and Cougar allowed his mind to concentrate on Jensen's solid warmth against him, reassuring him that they could get through this and then to begin to catalog all the things he needed to know, all the answers he wanted from Jensen. He didn't think he'd get them all at once, but they had time now.

The rest of the team came back about twenty minutes later and the TV was turned on low as they settled into the other chairs in the room. Cougar was under no illusion that this would become a norm, but it was a sign of the respect the team had for each other, that they could understand this was the reassurance that Jensen had needed.

When Jensen woke a couple of hours later, he and Cougar shifted positions to sit alongside each other for a few minutes before Cougar went to make a fresh sandwich that this time Jensen ate. The pain from earlier had clearly lessened and it wasn't long before Jensen reached for his crutches and moved away.

He returned a few minutes later, but instead of heading for the couch he went towards his room, pausing at the door and turning to face the others. "Thanks, guys . . . for everything." He drew in a breath and then said, "Carlos –" He left the word hanging as if he couldn't quite work out how to ask for what he needed. He didn't need to say anymore, Cougar was already out of his seat and heading for him, ushering him into the room and closing the door behind them.

Cougar hovered, trying to help and guide him down to the bed, before sitting alongside and pulling him closer. They settled more comfortably together and Jensen began to talk. "You're probably wondering why I didn't tell you about my time with McKee before . . ." Cougar waited calmly.

"I – It seemed like the wrong time to tell you, like I'd have been trying to make it about me, when it wasn't. You had enough to deal with . . . I thought that I understood and that would be enough. I thought that if I told you then you'd worry about telling me that it would be bad for me and none of that was important. What was important was you being okay."

Cougar leant over and kissed him. "Sometimes, I want to strangle you," he murmured. "But I always love you and I don't think I'd change you despite everything."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I think we can figure it all out and maybe others will learn from what happened to McKee. We'll be alright – just so long as you are careful and let this heal," Cougar ran his hand gently over Jensen's leg.

Jensen reached for his hand and entwined their fingers. "You know I haven't been sleeping all that well lately . . . I figure I'm still kinda tired . . ." There was a suggestive tone to his voice.

Cougar laughed affectionately, before moving to help Jensen take his clothes off.


End file.
